


Singular Focus

by griseldajane



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Father-Son Relationship, Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Violence, mirkwood family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griseldajane/pseuds/griseldajane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thranduil is abducted by a psychotic with a deranged purpose, Legolas must trust his instincts to find his father before it is too late.</p>
<p>Excerpt: <i>Legolas jumped his horse over a crooked tree limb that hung low across the path and they trod not more than a few paces past it when he noticed a spray of arrows sticking out of a branch. Legolas signaled for the patrol to slow its pace, and as they rounded the crook in the trail, the prince sucked in a horrified gasp.  </i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>The path was littered with arrows and the bodies of slain elves-- the remains of the king’s escort. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: This story is shameless hurt/comfort/angst with blatant loving!father and son feels-- written before the BOFA film and completely centered on Thranduil and Legolas. Please read ALL the warning tags. 
> 
> Caveat: I admit that the timeline is a bit muddled here, as Legolas, while fully grown, is still considered a young warrior and rising up through the ranks (around 500 years old), which makes Tauriel a great deal older in this story (around 200 years) than her age in the Hobbit films. 
> 
> Caveat 2: I am not a Tolkien expert. I do the best I can :)

**SINGULAR FOCUS**

****** Chapter One **

 

 

A gentle wind swept over the prince of the Woodland Realm as he looked out across the elven bridge and into the darkened depths of the forest. The air nipped at his ears with a note of coldness, a whisper that autumn was on its way. It was early still, the daylight hours just starting to spill over the horizon. Legolas scrutinized the road that lead from the stronghold into the woods until he could not discern where the path diverged from the shadows. 

 

A pair of squirrels chased each other around the trunk of a towering oak tree, rustling the tree leaves as they leapt from branch to branch. Their silly antics distracted the prince for a moment, bringing a flash of a smile to Legolas's face, but his expression soon fell as his eyes returned to the empty elven road. 

 

The king should have returned from the summit meeting two days ago, and though two days were not enough time to cause significant worry, Legolas could not shake a gnawing sense of foreboding that something was amiss.  The first inkling of unease had started in the early evening the night before last, but he had not thought anything of it, presuming that the warmth of morning light would chase the wayward feeling away. To his dismay, the dayspring brought no reprieve, and each hour that passed only allowed the dread inside him to mount until he had woken this morning sick with agitation.

 

Pressing a fist to his chest, Legolas kneaded his knuckles against his flesh, attempting to relieve the tension there. He exhaled a long breath, blowing it out with a prayer to the Valar to take the feeling from him.  The feeling came from the inside out, an ache deep in his bones that pained him like the bitterest of winter frosts that gnarled and withered and split the woodland trees. 

 

For a moment, Legolas felt brittle, as if he might splinter amidst this bitterness, and thoughts of his father flooded his awareness, and Legolas knew in his heart something to be wrong.  His intuition had long served him in his pursuits, and he still thought to trust in himself, even if Thranduil did not share this confidence in his intuition. 

 

Guided by this instinct, Legolas had been known to take more chances than not, more than King Thranduil would like.  

 

It had taken centuries for Thranduil to accept that he could not keep Legolas safely squirreled away from the world forever, that his precious elfling had grown into a fine and abled warrior.  It was with a mute, but worried heart that Thranduil assigned his son to patrols and sent him on missions-- the silence of a king with the anxiety of a father.

 

And though Legolas had grown up and though Thranduil had given him space to, that did not mean that father and son were without friction.  Legolas thought back on the last mission Thranduil had assigned him to, which had not gone entirely as planned... 

 

*****

 

Perhaps it had not been Legolas’s wisest decision to allow the orcs he had been tracking to lead him so close to Dol Guldur and the southern border of their lands.  But he had stopped the orc spies from relaying what information they had collected to their masters.  His patrol had not kept up with him, and had been forced to return to the stronghold days earlier without the prince.

 

When Legolas finally came riding back into the stronghold, exhausted and sore, it was with a sense of pride that he had not given up, and had slayed those orcs single-handedly.

 

But as he peered up at his father sitting atop his throne, the look of fury in Thranduil’s eyes conveyed what a grave error in judgement he had made.  After seeing that Legolas was for the most part unharmed and returned from the wilds on the heels of reckless obsession, Thranduil was forbidding, his reproving words as crisp and keen as his blade. 

 

“You defied direct orders,” Thranduil said.  “You were told not to engage, were you not?” 

 

Though Legolas’s heart pounded, his anger waylaid any trepidation he felt as he stood before the Elvenking. 

 

“ _They_  engaged  _us_ ,” Legolas retorted, “and we could not let those orcs reach Dol Guldur.” 

 

“That was not  _your_  decision to make,” Thranduil snapped. “You are a soldier in the king’s army and you will do as your king commands!  You deserted your patrol with the reckless abandon of an elfling cadet, putting yourself and your patrol in danger,” Thranduil said. “Tell me why I should not dispel you from your rank.” 

 

“It takes perseverance to keep our people safe, in these times especially,” Legolas countered. “I did what my instincts told me to do, what  _is_  needed with this darkness that descends upon us growing worse by the day-- a darkness that you do not wish to see!”

 

There was not so much a ripple through those present, but a collective absense of movement as every elf in the throne room held their breath. Thranduil’s eyes flashed and he sat forward in his throne, an ire encompassing him that only his son managed to inspire.

 

Though Legolas was far too old to be grounded, that did not stop the king from reassigning one of his soldiers for the foreseeable future.  And if Legolas happened to be that soldier, then there was little the prince could do to argue, no matter how much he felt the sting of a father punishing his son.

 

"Legolas, you are reassigned to the home guard for the remainder of the season," Thranduil commanded, the order ensuring that his son would be forced to stay safe behind the palace walls and incidentally within his grasp. "You are not to leave the stronghold unless so permitted. You  _will_  obey these orders."

 

Legolas's eyes blazed, and he managed to say, “By your will, my lord,” as he bristled at being treated like a child, barely holding his tongue when the king dismissed him. 

 

No warmth passed between father and son that day.

 

As Legolas stormed off towards his rooms, Galion, who had been waiting just beyond the throne room, fell into step with him.  Galion was his father’s valet and had been by his side for all of Legolas’s life, and was, at times Legolas’s attendant too.  

 

“Do not let your anger linger for too long,” Galion said to him. “Your father has been worried sick about you,” he said.  “I dare say he has not slept in the days since you did not return with the rest of your patrol.”

 

“That excuses his fit of temper?” Legolas remarked angrily. “I did what had to be done for the good of our people,” he said rounding to a stop.  “But he cannot see that-- he only sees his elfling outgrowing his reach.”  

 

“If he worries for you a bit more, can you fault him?” Galion asked.  

 

Legolas let out a heavy sigh.  “I know him as well as you, Galion, and it is difficult to not see the king’s censure for what it is-- the scolding of an angry father,” he said. "Lots of fathers must watch their soldier sons march off into the unknown, and none have the option of commanding them to hide indoors except for him."

 

“Did you, a soldier of the Woodland Realm, expect to ride off on a wild orc chase and return without reprimand?” Galion asked gently.  

 

Legolas felt his face grow hot.  Admittedly, he had not thought that far ahead when he’d gone off after those orcs. “I did not just wander off like an elfling,” he said.  “I was intent on stopping them, and I did.”

 

"Your intentions and courage are commendable, but the king cannot have members of his army going off on their own whims, Legolas. He knows you are brave and capable.  It is your judgement that sometimes needs amending.  He is very proud of you,” Galion replied. “When you have calmed down some you will see that your reassignment is no more than what he would do for another who had gone off as you did." Galion paused, considering his words before adding, "Though, I will concede that he most likely would not have yelled at another quite so furiously, and turned that _spectacular_  shade of red.”

 

Legolas breathed a chuckle, and replied, “I believe that only I can work my father into such a frenzy.”

 

“Indeed,” Galion agreed and bid him to rest while he sent him something from the kitchen.

 

Galion was right, of course. By the end of his first day on the home guard, when a little distance had passed and Legolas was no longer exhausted and in want of nourishment, he was measurably chastened for having been so blindly resolute in his actions.

 

In the evening hours, he went to his father's rooms, knocking softly on the door. 

 

For a moment he thought Thranduil had retired for the evening, but then he heard his voice bid him enter and watched Thranduil’s eyes widen with surprise at the sight of him. 

 

"Legolas,” he said. “I must admit that I did not expect to see you for a few more days at least,” and he beckoned him to enter and sit.  

 

The soft light of many candles flickered gently in the vast space, and some tension relaxed from his frame as he went inside.  Thranduil's rooms were warm and comforting to him, as much a private space as the royal family would ever have, and Legolas had many happy memories in these rooms of cherished time spent alone with his father where none would interrupt them.  

 

“Is everything alright, ion-nin?” Thranduil asked.

 

"Yes, Adar,” Legolas replied, and hesitated slightly as he added, “And no.” 

 

Legolas's soft words caught his complete attention, and his long hair fell in a cascade over his shoulders as Thranduil turned to look at his son.

 

“I have come to tell you I am sorry.  For the way I spoke to you.  For pursuing those orcs apart from my patrol," Legolas admitted, and dropped to a bended knee with a fist to his chest at Thranduil's feet. "I will show better judgement in the future. I will not give you cause to doubt me."

 

And he meant it. Though Legolas wanted nothing more than for his father to trust him, and let him be the elf he was meant to be, he could not stand for animosity to be between them for very long. 

 

"Legolas, it is not that I doubt you," Thranduil began, resting a gentle hand on Legolas's bowed head. "But you cannot deny that you have a reckless streak, and penchant for trouble. I see that it comes from a place of honor and integrity within you, but you must exercise more caution and discipline.  I would not tolerate such a disobedience from any elf in my army, not just you.  I understand that it is not easy to be a prince, a soldier and a son all at once... especially to me."

 

Legolas looked up at his father, seeing remorse play across his features. 

 

Thranduil sighed.  “I, too, must exercise some discipline. As the king, I should not have yelled at you so, though I must admit that I felt justified at the time for the torment you caused me.”

 

“Torment?” Legolas asked, coming to his feet. “Perhaps you dramatize a little.”

 

“Perhaps,” Thranduil replied, a hint of a smile upon his lips.  "Though I do not think so."

 

“Have I not proven myself? Am I not capable?” Legolas asked, struggling to keep the frustration from his voice. 

 

With a small sigh, Thranduil clutched Legolas by the shoulders, his grasp a firm and reassuring weight. “Yes, you have proven yourself a thousand times over, and are as capable as any elf ever was,” he replied. “Yet there are no assurances that may completely soothe a father’s worry for his child.”

 

"You must trust me, adar," Legolas said.  "My intuition is sound."

 

Thranduil looked into his eyes and said, “That may be so. But you will understand my torment when you have children and loved ones of your own who venture off into the wilds, let alone halfway to Dol Guldur! I dare not let myself imagine what those orcs could have had planned for you had their intentions been less transparent.”

 

"Do not dwell on what has not happened," Legolas said.  "And all my loved ones tend to stay in the stronghold these days," he added with a smile.

 

Though Thranduil's expression changed little, Legolas felt the warmth of his father's joy through the bond they shared, and his sentiment in turn gave Legolas happiness in a great loop of elven affection. 

 

"Although," Legolas added, "the summit you are set to attend is in a few days... I had hoped to accompany you there."

 

Thranduil released a small sigh. "Your term with the home guard is not yet complete. And there is no need for us  _both_ to attend the summit," Thranduil said. "You are to stay here in my stead."

 

Scowling, Legolas suppressed a groan, and Thranduil laughed at his put upon expression and said, "Oh, it is not so terrible a thing, Legolas.  I think some practice at governing might do you well. Besides, my council will be here to help you."

 

Though Legolas was displeased by Thranduil's reply, he had not truly expected anything different.  It was his due to stay at home and oversee things for a change. It was an odd position to be in-- at once demoted from his patrol for his rashness, only to be put in charge of the entire kingdom in a few days time. 

 

Akin to the forest, Legolas was more at home among its branches than inside the fortress walls.  He was happiest among the trees in the open air.  Legolas despised these moments that thrust him prominently into the political arena. For him it seemed a necessary evil, an unhappy chore of being the king’s son.  It was perhaps clear from a young age that Legolas had little interest or natural aptitude for politics, though he had become more amenable to the task of governing as he got older, even if he did not find enjoyment in it yet.  Legolas was young by elf standards, and he reasoned he had plenty of time to grow into to affairs of state.

 

Still, the prince was glad that he had spoken with his father, for despite their differing points of view, Legolas respected him and wished for nothing more than to make him proud.  It warmed his heart to see that the ire from the day before had vanished, and his own irritation had been replaced with fondness.  

 

Legolas adored his father, who was strict but loving in his way, having been both father and mother to him. sometimes they argued terribly for both had a stubborn streak, and sometimes Legolas was lonely for his father, who was reclusive at times, or occupied with affairs of state.  But Thranduil never did anything by halves, and when he sought Legolas’s company, he was always fully present.

 

“Sit with me,” Thranduil said, clutching his hand briefly before reaching to pour Legolas some wine.  “Keep an old elf company,” he said offering Legolas a glass. 

 

Legolas grinned at his words.  That Thranduil was an "old elf" was a joke shared between them from when Legolas was small, for when he learned how many years Thranduil had lived, the young elfling could not believe any being could  _be_ that old and with the innocence of youth had said so.  

 

Legolas obliged him with a glad and open heart, and the two stayed up late into the night talking and spending time together as father and son. 

 

 

*****

 

Their evening talk had warmed him then, but the memory of it burned Legolas now as his heart was gripped by the icy hand of worry. 

 

As he had watched the king and his entourage go across the bridge into the forest, Legolas had not thought to sear the memory in his mind.  It had never occurred to him that it might be the last time he ever saw him.  Thranduil was enduring-- a constant of Legolas’s world.  He would be there as surely as the sun rose every day.

 

The summit meeting happened once every few decades or whenever the new leaders of men were elected, when Thranduil would be invited to meet with the respective leaders that bordered his realm.  Though the Elvenking did not spare much thought on other lands, as a monarch he was cordial and agreeable to meet the rulers whose people would most likely barter with his kingdom and ask permission to use the elven road through his forest. And Legolas knew his father enjoyed his fearsome reputation, one that he had definitely earned in his long life. 

 

The summit should only have lasted a few days. Thranduil and his entourage had been gone eight days now, and they should have returned two days ago. Though Legolas had not mentioned the dread wearing at him, it was obvious to those who knew him well that he was preoccupied. Tauriel, a smart and perceptive elf, did not say anything either, but her presence by Legolas's side was a small comfort.

 

Legolas must have been staring at the road for an inordinate amount of time for Tauriel broke their understood silence.  

 

"I never knew you to worry so much, Legolas,” she said.

 

Legolas did not look away from the road as he replied, "There is a beleaguering ache in my heart, like a phantom drifting across the lands." Legolas looked at her then, his brow drawn with worry.  "I fear something has happened, Tauriel," he whispered as if afraid to give voice to his concerns.

 

"They are only a few days late,” Tauriel replied sensibly.  “The king is well guarded, and do not forget that he himself is a fearsome warrior," she said. "If there is trouble, it will be taken care of." 

 

Legolas tried to smile at her, but could not muster it.  She gave his arm a squeeze and said, "Do not dwell too long on your worries," before leaving him to return to her duties. 

 

The prince carried on with his day, sitting in on a council meeting in his father's stead, listening to his subjects petitions, checking in on his archers, trying to keep to his princely duties, despite the disquiet that worsened inside him.  His eyes kept straying to the windows, bright and clear with an unobstructed view of the bridge. 

 

He imagined the king's party crossing it and how foolish he'd feel as his father's keen gaze swept over him and would know his senseless worry. Legolas had to admit that he was unpracticed at worrying over his father, for as king, Thranduil had personal bodyguards and he was hardly in peril while deep in the heart of his underground fortress. 

 

If Thranduil had felt what Legolas was feeling now when he’d gone on his orc chase, then he owed his father an even bigger apology. 

 

But the bridge remained empty and these were just imaginings.  Every time Legolas glanced over and saw the unoccupied bridge, his hopes sank further.

 

By the last council meeting of the day, it took all Legolas's concentration to focus on what was being said and not give attention to the unease in his heart. Galion said he would bring any news of the entourage at once but the valet had not interrupted the council session. As the last business was brought forth, Legolas's attention was stolen by the trees as they shook suddenly, not from wind, but of their own frenzy.  

 

All the elves turned to stare out the tall windows at the forest, and Legolas stood abruptly, excusing himself, and hurried through the halls with such an urgency that none dared get in his way. He ignored the concerned shouts of others as he leaped down the steps, darting across the yard until he had sprinted into the forest. The trees were agitated and tittering all at once, their urgent speak jumbled and cacophonous, but from the chaotic chatter Legolas discerned one united sentiment--

 

 _Hurry_ , the trees cried. _Make haste! Strife in the forest! You must hurry!_

 

Worry consumed him wholly, and Legolas raced back to the stronghold, shouting for his horse to be readied, knowing that an awful something had indeed happened. He had wanted so much to make his father proud, to run the realm in Thranduil’s absence with the aplomb and wisdom befitting his station.  But now Legolas could make no other choice than one he knew his father would not approve of.  This foreboding was more than just fearful fretting, and the prince assembled a search patrol for the king and his group that he himself would lead through the forest.

 

None could convince the prince to do otherwise. Tauriel argued with him to stay in the stronghold at least until they investigated, but Legolas could not and would not do it, not with this great fist of dread clutching fast to his heart, and the dire whispers of the trees in his ears.  

 

"Were you not just chastised for this? The king would not want you to follow him into danger," Tauriel argued. "You think he does not wish to run after you during all the trials you have faced? Of course he does, but he is king and knows his place.  King Thranduil would want his prince to stay and look after the realm while he is absent. Let a patrol go into the forest and seek out this strife."

 

Though her words were reasonable, Legolas could only reply, “I have not my father’s patience,” as he saddled his horse.

 

“Nor his wisdom,” she remarked, blatantly unhappy with his decision to lead a contingent of elves into the forest.  

 

Tauriel was right of course, with the king absent, the prince of the woodland realm  _should_  stay with his people.  But that went against his every instinct, and though he knew it would anger his father, Legolas would rather bear his wrath than shoulder the weight of this grief leadening his heart.  

 

Legolas had never exploited his status as prince, always falling in line with his military rank.  For the first time, he felt close to pressing the point.  If he was forced to stay in the stronghold as this unrest mounted inside him, he would go mad.

 

"My Lord Legolas," Tauriel began, "please listen to--." 

 

"You do  _not_  understand," Legolas growled at her, his blue eyes alight with unwavering vehemence.  He struck a hard fist against his chest, and Tauriel started at the violence of it.  He said, "I must go for I am  _consumed_. What the trees whisper, my heart already understands-- My father is in trouble, I feel it in my blood, in the bond that binds me to him and him to me, and there is nothing that you nor anyone can say that will stop me from going to him.”

 

For her part, Tauriel did not dissent when members of the council advised against his going, and she even maintained that Legolas understood the Greenwood like no other and would be the best choice in deciphering what was causing such unrest in the forest. 

 

It did not take much convincing.  The look of ferociousness on Legolas’s face brooked no arguments. Once the other elves stepped foot into the forest, they fell silent, understanding without a doubt that something was indeed terribly amiss. The trees were shivering with upset and urging all of them to make haste down the elven path. 

 

As Legolas spurred his horse onward through the gloomy Greenwood, he felt ill at ease.  The mist hung heavily around the patrol, making it difficult for even their elven eyes to see what lay ahead, but none could mistake the anguished cries of the trees becoming louder and more unsettling as they rode deeper into the forest.  There was an eerie stillness surrounding them, like the quiet that hung on the air after the first heavy snow of the winter season. 

 

Legolas jumped his horse over a crooked tree limb that hung low across the path and they trod not more than a few paces past it when he noticed a spray of arrows sticking out of a branch. Legolas signaled for the patrol to slow its pace, and as they rounded the crook in the trail, the prince sucked in a horrified gasp.  

 

The path was littered with arrows and the bodies of slain elves-- the remains of the king’s escort. A great horror rose up in Legolas’s throat, but he tamped down his distress and dismounted, checking the bodies on the forest floor for life.

 

His heart pounded like a jack rabbit, though somehow Legolas remained calm, falling back on his training even as his mind reeled.  The elves had been gruesomely shot through their throats and, later, it seemed, put out of misery with a kill shot through the eye, and though this was horrifying enough on its own, Legolas had the added terror of wondering if his father had suffered the same fate.  

 

Not all the bodies were that of elves-- dead men stuck with Woodland Realm arrows were strewn across the forest floor.  More men than elves, but that was little comfort in the face of such death.

 

It shocked Legolas to see such blatant slaughter.  These elves had not ridden into battle, they’d been on a diplomatic errand. That they were met with such a fate was appalling. Legolas was not alone in this sentiment.  A young archer braced herself against a tree, while another sank to his knees at the feet of his slain cousin.  

 

Quickly, Legolas ordered several of his soldiers to scout around for the presence of an active threat around them as he focused on what to do.  

 

Legolas knew Thranduil was a fearsome warrior and had fought against great dangers in his life, but the king was not usually put in a position of such vulnerability, and these elves that had been slain were no less formidable than he.

 

The thought that his father could quite possibly be dead numbed him, and he moved now with the calm that sometimes accompanied a great shock. He could not let himself think about that. He could not let himself think of his friends that had been killed, nor of the great wisdom lost by this senseless violence. 

 

Studying the dirt, looking at the tracks of their attackers, Legolas sucked in a quick breath. Pressed into the forest floor was the king's crown, the elegantly crafted diadem broken in two places, the delicate winter blooms that adorned it, crushed.  

 

He pried the crown free of the earth and held the pieces in trembling hands.  There was no time to think beyond this before Tauriel shouted across the path.

 

“We need a healer,” she cried.  “Make haste!”

 

For a dizzying, horrifying second, Legolas imagined his father spilled out on the ground, but as Legolas dropped beside Tauriel he saw that the elf in her arms was not Thranduil. Tauriel had found a survivor among the bodies, an elf with an arrow through her chest who had not yet died.  

 

“What happened?” Tauriel asked as she smoothed the elf’s hair from her face.  The elf’s wounds were grievous, and by all sense she should have died a while ago, yet it was the urgency to tell what she knew that had kept her alive.

 

“We were ambushed on our way home from the summit,” she said.  “Looked like marauders… but they had been trained in the elven ways of combat.  They knew how to hide from us and what to expect. They were ready. Their numbers were eight times ours.  They sabotaged the path and attacked us,” she said, struggling to breathe around the words.  “They… they executed the other elves even after the king agreed to comply with their demands.  They killed them one by one, no mercy… I was spared because they thought me dead already. And King Thranduil," she paused, swallowing thickly, "they took the king.”

 

“He was their target,” Tauriel assessed.

 

“Yes,” she said, and looking over at Legoas she whispered, “My prince, he was still alive when they took him… I heard them say that it was important that he lived.”

 

Relief freed a small knot of tension from Legolas’s slender frame, but it was little solace in the face of so much death. 

 

Her breathing worsened and she fought to stay with them.  “I am sorry, my prince,” she whispered.  “We protected him as best we could-- we did, but in the end we were a liability to him. It was clear they meant to kill all but him.  The king tried to protect us,” and she laughed, a mirthless gasp, coughing up pink flecks of spittle. “He was as fierce as I’ve ever seen. We failed him. We failed you-- we failed-- we--.” 

 

“You fought bravely,” Legolas said, hushing her. “You have made your people proud.  The king knows this as surely as I do.”  

 

She nodded desperately, a tear sliding down her cheek, finding absolution in Legolas’s words, even though none was needed.  

 

There had been eight elves in Thranduil’s entourage and of that number only two still breathed, including the elf Tauriel had found. The elleth's only chance of survival was in the healing chambers, so Legolas quickly dispensed a small number of their group to rush her and the other survivor back to the stronghold.  Another number was appointed the more somber task of taking the bodies of their slain kin back to the stronghold. 

 

To the rest Legolas said, “We do not know what these men want with our king. We only know that they will not hesitate to kill us. I am going after them, and will ask for volunteers to join me, knowing that there is a strong possibility you may be killed.  Think carefully. There is no dishonor in staying behind to help your fallen brethren.”

 

None of the remaining elves backed down. They all bowed with a fist to their chest, pledging their allegiance to Legolas. 

 

"What do you mean to do, Legolas?" Tauriel asked him as he stalked back towards his horse, tucking the pieces of his father's crown into the saddle bag. "We cannot begin to know who abducted the king or for what purpose."

 

"We will track them no matter how far they travel, even if they lead us into Mordor," Legolas said.  "We are elves of the Woodland Realm and no one slays our kin and takes our king without answering for it."

 

Legolas sat astride his horse and lead the group onward, listening for the trees to guide him as they rode from the elven path.

 

 

_To be continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was part of my NaNoWriMo challenge. While it is a WIP, the entire story is written and plotted out, it just needs a bit of polish. I hope to update every few weeks and expect the story to last about 6 chapters.
> 
> I post Thranduil and Legolas art on my [art blog](http://griseldajane.tumblr.com) and post Thranduil and Legolas related media on my [Mirkwood Family blog](http://mirkwoodfamily.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Feel free to join me at either location!


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Excerpt:_
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> _His heart ached, though he was not immediately aware of why. Then he heard their voices, the uncouth tongue of men, their vulgar way of speaking, a din of chatter and laughter and irksome sounds that seemed too base to be considered language._
> 
>  
> 
> _A cold shiver of horror thrilled down his spine, and despite himself, Thranduil breathed a soft gasp, bracing himself as if for a physical blow as the terrible memory of the siege returned to assault him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caveat 1: Make sure you read all the tag warnings!
> 
> Caveat 2: I am not a Tolkien expert. I do the best I can :)

 

**SINGULAR FOCUS**

**** Chapter Two ****

 

Like a mountain surfacing through the thick mists of the north, discomfort cut through Thranduil’s unconscious. The dull awareness of pain gave way to a heavy tension through his head, and a sharp agony settling low at the back of his skull.  The metallic taste of his own blood was substantial on his tongue, and he swallowed thickly, his brow knitting in confusion.  

 

The scent of horse hair came to him next, his cheek pressed against the neck of the horse he was atop. Warmth pooled there, a small comfort amid much despair. Punctuated by the sensation of rhythmic bobbing, throbs of pain reverberated through his body with every dip. 

 

His heart ached, though he was not immediately aware of why.  Then he heard their voices, the uncouth tongue of men, their vulgar way of speaking, a din of chatter and laughter and irksome sounds that seemed too base to be considered language. 

 

A cold shiver of horror thrilled down his spine, and despite himself, Thranduil breathed a soft gasp, bracing himself as if for a physical blow as the terrible memory of the siege returned to assault him.

 

With his recall fragmented, Thranduil tried to piece together what he could remember.  Some sections of his memory had been irrevocably beaten from him, though enough remained to anger and break his heart. Eight elven lives lost, and he, _their king_ , able to do nothing to stop it. With his eyes firmly closed, Thranduil afforded himself some measure of private grief. 

 

The narrow road had stretched before him and his entourage, shaded and growing darker, but soon familiar, and the relief of being on their way home gave light to their hearts. After three trying days of dealing with men and dwarves at the summit, the thought of _his_ home-- _Legolas--_ his looking forward to seeing his son and how he had fared during his absence had turned his vigilant focus inward. 

 

There had been a gasp, and Thranduil had looked back towards the sound to see his advisor take his last breath, gaping and shocked, as an arrow protruded from his chest.  Men had descended upon their group like a horde of spiders, wielding crossbows and swords, and chaos erupted-- His guard had sprang to action, closing ranks around him as they fired their arrows, and he ready with his blade, but they were only nine-- now eight-- elves against more than seventy men.

 

These men had known when and where to attack them, and though Thranduil and his elven guards had slain a great many of their assailants, the men were too many in number, and eventually overwhelmed his small escort. 

 

The execution of elves had started from the first, each arrow launched an attempted killshot. No endeavor was made at subduing them, no moment was given for reason. The thwack of arrows against bowlines, the gurgle of those choking on blood, shouts of horror and aggression alike had filled the forest. 

 

No prisoners were to be taken save one-- The Elvenking himself. 

 

When Thranduil understood this, when it was clear that all his elves were to be slaughtered until he alone was standing, Thranduil had moved bodily between them and the marauders, appealing to the commander of these men for clemency for his people. 

 

The commander had just smiled at him, a malicious grin, and did nothing. "Take him," he had said, and the remaining men swarmed him.  

 

Thranduil killed many men that day.  He was eventually struck against the skull, and bludgeoned again and again, until there was a _crack_ , and a dizzying pain with the warmth of his own blood rushing over him, and Thranduil could no longer raise himself from the ground. 

 

The world shifted to red and black and the last thing he heard before losing consciousness was the anguished screaming of his people. 

 

Opening his eyes now, he saw the legs of the brown horse he was saddled on, and the dried leaves snapping under its hooves as they rode across a shade dappled path.  Thranduil did not know where they were, but he knew the look of his forest, and they were not in the Greenwood.  The descending sun was warm at his back, and he knew they were traveling east. 

 

As Thranduil sat up in the saddle, his limbs ached in protest, and he saw then that there were thick cuffs around each wrists with a chain tethered between them. Lifting his hands towards his face, he felt the great weight of these bonds encumbering him.  The restraints were dwarven made, forged in iron with little hope of escaping without the key.  It would be futile to even try to pry open a dwarven made lock, for they were as obstinate as their makers.  Thranduil could do nothing, but bide his time until an option presented itself. 

 

The world swam before his vision, and he thought he may vomit, but did not know if it was from the head trauma or from the horrible violence done to his people.  His heart rumbled with barely contained rage that his elves had been transgressed against and he had been unable to protect them. 

 

There was a throbbing in his skull in tune with his heartbeat, and blood along his neck, the dampness of it in his hair.  Though his hands were bound in front of him, there was enough slack in the chain to raise them to his head, so Thranduil did, probing the wound with gentle fingers.  They came away bloody, strands of his long hair between them.  

 

He released the golden strands with whispers to the wind, his flaxen hair tinged red, enough of a message if any of his kin were to travel this way. A jay bird swooped down from a tree limb, plucking the hair from mid-air and flew off along the path from whence they came.  Thranduil hoped the little bird would find its way towards the Greenwood. 

 

Even though he was their captive, some of the men shied away from Thranduil's incensed gaze, made uneasy by the mere sight of him, though it was they who had beaten, and bled, and chained him.  In a quiet fury, Thranduil held himself perfectly still, the kind of stillness that unnerved men, that no human could achieve except in death.  Thranduil was a creature of the wild; he was not like them and they best not forget it.

 

Thranduil counted the men, noting that less than half of their six dozen soldiers had survived against nine elves.  These men were not typical soldiers.  There was no coat of arms that united them, no real discipline in their step. They were marauders for hire, a rag tag bunch of men who killed for pay.  They flanked his horse on all sides and then the rest in a single file line to hide their numbers.  What they planned to do with him, Thranduil could only guess.  The woodland realm was not known for its wealth, though he supposed it mattered little to men with the notion of ransoming a king, if that's what they had indeed planned.

 

One of the men suddenly jabbed Thranduil with his bow, roughly prodding him between his shoulder blades as he groused, "He's too still, this one. I don't like it."

 

The commander rode up beside this man and knocked him from his mount with a hard, backhand swing of his arm.  "You don't have to like it,” he growled. “You just have to make sure that he's delivered alive." 

 

The commander peered at Thranduil warily, his eyes flitting from his face to his bloodstained clothes and he frowned, an inkling of worry creasing his brow.  Thranduil stared back at him with a cold, placid gaze, knowing that one way or another he would see this man's end. 

 

The commander was a stocky, broad man called Halvard, with fading ginger hair streaked with tufts of gray, and a short beard to match it.  He would almost be bumbling if not for the fact that he held himself with a confidence that great hubris affords.  The marauders were quick to obey him, not from respect, but from fear of his harsh discipline or of want of golden reward.  While he himself coveted gold like a dragon, Halvard was a firm believer in rewarding those who obeyed him with coin, for he understood such motivation, and when his men succeeded, he was in turn so rewarded by his employer.  Thranduil understood quickly that gold was the only thing keeping this company united. 

 

The commander's attention was still turned to Thranduil.  As he looked him up and down in estimation, his eyes suddenly gleamed with satisfaction at the Elvenking's ferocity despite the bonds around his wrists and the blood that stained his silver robes.   

 

"You are a resilient one, I’ll give you that," Halvard remarked with a booming laugh.  "A splendid elven specimen. In certain markets, you'd fetch quite a sum." He paused, mulling over the notion of betraying his employer, and taking Thranduil to some other place to be sold like common cattle.  "You are lucky that the one who desires you is offering payment worth more than any king's ransom." 

 

"And who is it that desires me?" Thranduil asked him. 

 

The commander grinned and said, "You'll just have to wait and see."

 

Night fell upon them like a shroud. Thranduil's thoughts drifted to the Greenwood and he prayed to the Valar that his people would be kept safe.  By now he was more than a day late, though it would be several days more before anyone realized something was wrong, and organized a search for him and his missing entourage.  His heart ached for the horror they would find along the trail.  Having been carried unconscious from the road, Thranduil did not know what had happened to the bodies of the slain, but observing these men he suspected his kin had been left to rot.  More than anything Thranduil wished that he could spare Legolas from the shock he was about to face when he discovered the remains of his escort.  

 

Though fully grown, Legolas was young yet and the reckless ways of youth had not quite left his bones.  Knowing his son as he did, Thranduil speculated that the prince would undoubtedly insist on leading any search party, and Thranduil sobered at the thought, knowing that he must find a way to escape or survive and not lead his son into a fatal trap.  

 

Though the prince was relatively young and sheltered within the hall, Legolas was a strong and noble elf with a fierce heart and his mother's graceful spirit.  At times, Thranduil marveled at how this came to be when his child had only one parent to nurture and guide him for most of his life, and that parent's royal duties often times interfered with his fatherly ones.  Pride bloomed deep in his chest for his son, a warm ember that sustained him, his beam of light in a darkening kingdom. 

 

*****

 

The men traveled through the night without stopping. Thranduil shivered against the bite of evening air, and he had to admit he was in poor condition to be so affected. 

 

The wood thinned as they headed east until the lands turned from forest to sweeping fields, the brush green and thick eventually giving way to tall yellowing grass and autumn-brown brambles.  The sandy dirt shifted under the hooves of the horses and when the landscape dipped, Thranduil saw they were headed towards a seaside town.

 

At the mouth of the path stood a wooden post with a weather faded sign that swung gently from rusty hinges.   _Fish Head_ , the sign read and the sea-shanty town was every bit as appealing as its name suggested.

 

Though they were a great distance still, Thranduil saw weathered buildings and lonely plumes of smoke rising from crooked chimney stacks. This town was desolate, a collection of houses huddled around a lone port with a few small ships in the harbor.  An isthmus jutted out from the mainland into the sea, the narrow path climbing up and up to a rocky land mass and rising up from this cliff face was a tower, a crumbling keep long since past its days of splendor. 

 

As they approached the road that led into the town, a pair on foot waited just after the sign post-- an old man and a little girl.  Halvard scowled and made a noise of irritation, and he rode ahead to meet them. 

 

"Eskil,” the commander called, greeting this old man by name.  The man that approached them was tall and slight, his skin weathered from years of toiling outside on the sea.  The young girl by his side was this man's grandchild, and bore a similar look.  

 

“You're treading dangerously close to crossing the border, which you _know_ you're not allowed to do.  Shouldn't you be attempting to coax some fish from that sea of yours?" Halvard sneered.  "We have to eat later."

 

When Eskil's gaze fell to Thranduil, his eyes widened in alarm as he took in his state. Eskil’s face pinched with worry.  Frowning at the commander, he asked instead, "What have you done, Halvard? Who is this elf?"

 

"Why Eskil, your ignorance is quite apparent," Halvard said, "this here is the Elvenking. Don't you know you are supposed to bow to royalty?" And the commander reared his horse, causing the older man scramble to move himself and his granddaughter out of the way, and he fell back in an undignified heap.

 

The commander gave a hearty laugh and his soldiers snickered behind him. 

 

Throwing a nasty glare at Halvard, the young girl rushed to Eskil's side, helping him back to his feet.  She was a little thing, delicate, with bones like a bird from years of malnourished growing in this severe environment. Her hazel eyes alone revealed the spitfire that was her spirit. 

 

"What have you wrought upon us? It is not enough that you have bled dry this town, you would bring the fearsome wood elves upon us all?" Eskil asked.  "You are taking this king of elves to _him_ \-- Is there nothing you would not do for coin?"  Eskil looked towards the crumbling castle, and his granddaughter drew close to him as they gazed up. 

 

"What we plan to do with our spoils is none of your affair," the commander replied.  "Now I suggest you get off the road and back to that shack you call home."

 

"You are a fool, Halvard," Eskil said. "You think his elven folk will let you just take one of their own, let alone their king?"

 

"Watch how you speak, Eskil.  You are lucky that I have been forbidden to kill you.  We left no survivors," the commander said. "Dead men tell no tales and the same is true of dead elves."

 

"Halvard, you have doomed us with your greed," Eskil said.  "I may not be a learned man, but even I know that the elves will track you across all of Middle Earth." 

 

Eskil looked again at Thranduil and said, "He is injured.  Your master will not be pleased.  Let him be seen by the doctor, at the very least to wash the blood from his face." 

 

For whatever reason, this man Eskil seemed intent on helping Thranduil.  Though Thranduil’s regard for men had fallen to an all time low, he thought perhaps he could have faith in this _one_.  Whatever his intentions, Eskil seemed his only hope for aid. Trusting this man would be a risk, but one he could not afford _not_ to take. 

 

"Always so concerned, Eskil," the commander said.  Though his words were cavalier, he fidgeted atop his horse and threw a worrying glance at Thranduil. The Elvenking's well being was a priority to him, and that was a card Thranduil could play to his advantage.

 

"You should worry more about yourself and your kin," Halvard drawled. "What would pretty little Rona here do without you?" Eskil drew his granddaughter closer to him. 

 

Thranduil saw an opportunity and took it.  He suddenly swayed, letting himself feel dizzy, and he fell sideways from his perch on the horse.  The little girl shrieked as he began to fall.  The horses started at her cry, whinnying and side-stepping away.  

 

“Catch him!” the commander screeched and several soldiers rushed to comply, managing to cushion Thranduil’s fall.  They propped Thranduil up and he sagged between them, lolling his head, and baring his bloody side for all to see.  Eskil grabbed for him and tilted his head gently to inspect the damage himself.

 

“He’s badly hurt, Halvard,” Eskil said.  “You have to bring him into town to be seen by Katrien.  If you’ve brought this elf all this way just to die here, you know _your_ death is next.” 

 

“Alright!” the commander shouted. "Let him be seen by the doctor."

 

Thranduil was hefted back atop his horse and Eskil lead it by the reins down the worn path into the town with Rona by his side.  

 

Thranduil mostly kept his eyes closed, but he felt the air became colder and thick with salt as they neared closer to the sea.  The roar of the waves crashing against the rocky shore echoed through the barren town square like the bay of a dragon, resounding and baleful, promising to swallow them whole one day.  

 

Down along the path they trod, but the land was desolate, with no gulls or wildlife of any kind to add to the call of the waves. The roads were paved with crushed sea shells that had been sun and salt had bleached white, and the step of their horses crackled and popped as they passed over it. The town square was nearly abandoned, and those few who were out hastened to disappear from sight. 

 

Their brigade stopped in front of a small, two floor house with a white symbol painted on the door, a vertical line with a serpent like spiral down its length. Unpainted wood shingles lined the exterior of the house, weathered gray and splintering in places. The painted front porch was peeling and cracked, and a wind chime hung from a beam above, chiming lazily in the gentle breeze. 

 

The front door swung open wide with a _slap-bang_ against the house and a woman with her hair in a messy knot and a harried expression on her face stepped through. Katrien was the town’s doctor, or the closest thing to it.  She had inherited the title from her late husband, Eskil’s son, who had been killed some months earlier by the invading men. Katrien was a willowy woman, who under better circumstances might have been a beauty, but things being how they were, Katrien had the tired, worn thin look of most people in this town.  

 

Taking one look at Thranduil hanging between two soldiers, she barked,"You bring that poor elf inside at once!" and Thranduil was jostled into the small house. 

 

"This way," Katrien said, leading them through her kitchen and gestured towards a small room in the back that served as an examination room.  "Put him in there," she said.

 

Eskil helped Thranduil towards the room, but Halvard caught hold of his chained wrists and pulled him back.  "Oh, no you don't," Halvard groused.  "He's not going out of my sight."

 

"Patient examinations are private," Katrien said.  "There will barely be enough room as it is with just my staff in there." Even though her staff was really just Eskil and Rona, it was no lie.  The room was no bigger than a pantry for that was what it used to be.

 

"This elf king is worth more than all of our miserable lives!" Halvard shouted.  "If you think I'm letting him escape--."

 

“Where would he go in this condition?” Katrien interrupted.  “Guard all the doors and windows if you like, but you cannot be in here.” 

 

Eskil chimed in, saying, "You're wasting time, Halvard. Look at him, he's fading fast.  Would you present a dead Elvenking to Morfindien and expect to live yourself?"

 

The color blanched from Halvard’s face. "Fine!” he shouted, throwing his arms up in the air. “But mark my words, you try anything and I will burn this place to the ground."

 

The soldiers heaved Thranduil into Eskil and Katrien’s arms, and they helped him inside the tiny room and onto the exam table. Thranduil glimpsed cabinets and shelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling, filled with reference books, jars of homemade remedies and other supplies. 

 

As Eskil closed the doors behind them, Katrien set to loosen his robes.  “Light the lamps, Eskil,” she said.  “I need to see him better.”

 

As her fingers fumbled with the clasps on his clothes, Thranduil sat up abruptly and said, “Forgive me, but we have not much time.”

 

To her credit, Katrien did not scream, though she did jump back from the table with a hand pressed to her throat as she stared with wide eyes at the Elvenking.

 

“Please, I ask for your help,” Thranduil implored, hoping that there was some good in these humans. 

 

Eskil gaped for a moment in wonder, and then grinned, saying, “You _pretended_ to faint to get away from them."

 

"Yes," Thranduil replied. "It seems my life is worth something to these men, and I exploited that to gain an audience with you."

 

“I’ll do my best to help you, but you mustn’t jolt like that,” Katrien said. "You have quite a wound there." She came towards him with a cloth and a basin of warm water. 

 

"No, I do not mean help like that," he said, though he did not stop her from cleaning the blood from his face. Her touch was gentle yet firm, her nimble fingers sweeping aside his long hair as she pressed the cloth to the gash in his head.  It stung and seared him, but Thranduil did not flinch.

 

"You're not a king in here," she said, fingering the collar of his robe, "you'll take this off without trouble."

 

Thranduil raised his eyebrows at her brashness, but otherwise did not comment. It was quicker to comply than argue with her. With a small wince, he shrugged out of his robe as much as his restraints would allow, and Katrien helped pull the fabric down and away from his torso.  

 

The woman gathered his hair in her hands, laying it over his shoulder and out of the way, and revealed deep purple welts along his shoulders and back from the beating he took.  Katrien breathed, "Those _animals_."

 

"Animals would not do this," Thranduil replied.

 

Katrien hesitated at his words, unsure of what to say to that, and finally nodded in silent agreement. "This may hurt a little,” she said after a moment, “but I must touch you to see if anything is broken." 

 

Thranduil was not too keen on being touched, but he would take kindness where he could get it, and he nodded his consent. Katrien probed for hidden injuries, and surmised that while he was severely bruised, he was remarkably without broken bones. 

 

"You could use some stitches though," she said looking at the wound where he'd been struck on the head.  It _had_ been quite a blow to render him unconscious and steal his pieces of his memory, but Thranduil was a survivor from the first age and had endured far worse. 

 

"It will heal on its own," Thranduil insisted. 

 

"Oh, so in the mean time you'll just be bleeding all over the place then?" Katrien said. "I've heard elves heal faster than men and that may be so, but I'm the doctor, and you're my patient and you'll hold still while I sew you up."

 

Katrien was obviously used to dealing with stubborn patients, and while her bedside manner could use refinement, she was a good physician, having trained for ten years at her husband's side. Thranduil saw little point in arguing with her, especially when time was so short.  She cleaned the wound with alcohol that burned like fire, and though her needle pricked and bit at his flesh, it was a tiny hurt compared to what he had endured the past few days.

 

The door peeked open and Rona slipped in carrying fresh bandages to her mother. She gave Thranduil a wide berth and frowned at him when he tracked her movement across the room. Managing a small smile at the girl did nothing to win her over. She still glowered at Thranduil from a safe distance. 

 

"Mama, why are we helping him?" Rona whispered, coming as close as she dared. "He's an _elf_."

 

"He's a good elf, Rona," Katrien replied while she worked. "And you know that doctors help anyone who need it."

 

"Yes, Mama," she said, although she looked skeptical. 

 

Eskil listened at the door to Halvard and the men talking. "Halvard is not a patient man," Eskil said as he came around to stand in front of Thranduil. "You've only afforded yourself a few minutes to talk."

 

“Then I must not waste them,” Thranduil replied.  “These men ambushed me on the road, killing all those traveling with me.  I need your help to send word back to the Greenwood.”

 

“Are you truly the Elvenking?” Eskil asked.

 

“Yes,” Thranduil replied.

 

“Then you can help us,” Eskil said. 

 

“You ask for my help?” Thranduil asked. Raising his heavily shackled wrists he said, “If it has escaped your notice, I am a prisoner here.” Even with the strength of his elven body, the irons were heavy, and after days of carrying their weight, he started to feel the strain of the extra burden in his arms, and chest, and shoulders. 

 

“We’re all prisoners in this town, can’t you see that?” Eskil said.

 

“Whose prisoners?” Thranduil asked. 

 

“His name is Morfindien," Eskil explained. "He’s the leader of this band of outlaws who operates out of this town.  Our town was dwindling before they arrived.  Now it has all but died.”

 

“Why do you not stop them?” Thranduil asked. 

 

“Once we might have done, but not now," Eskil replied with a heavy sigh. "Three seasons ago, Halvard came across the sea with a handful of men.  At first they traded with us, and though we knew they were unsavory, their gold was real. We were naive and thought our goods would satisfy them and that they would soon sail back from whence they came."

 

"But they stayed," Thranduil surmised. 

 

Eskil nodded. "They were just waiting until the right time to take over. A large ship came into the harbor, bearing the worst of the bunch-- Morfindien and the rest of the outlaws, and that was the end of our peaceful times."

 

"What do you know about this Morfindien?" Thranduil asked. "What could he want with this little town? Or with me?"

 

"I don't know what need he has for you, but I think he means to remake this city as his own," Eskil said. "There are whispers that Morfindien has no home, no people or kin, though he obviously has a horde of gold from somewhere for he pays to have his way. Morfindien took control of the seaport by force, having his hired outlaws kill our magistrate and any men and women who attempted to stop them, including my son-- Katrien’s husband and Rona’s father."

 

At the mention of her father Rona suddenly busied herself with smoothing the tail of her thick braid.  But she threw a hateful glance at Thranduil before turning to her busy work. Her apparent dislike of him was puzzling, though it did not bother him. 

 

"We have not the people left to oppose them and throw them out." Eskil stood before him with beseeching eyes and said, "If you would help us-- surely your army could oust them-- free us from their terror. We have little that we could offer you now, Elvenking, but--.”

 

“You are offering me my life,” Thranduil said.  “And a chance to warn my people of a threat in the East, that is payment enough. We have an agreement, we will help each other?"

 

At that moment the commander pounded on the door.  "What are you doing in there?" he demanded. "Hurry up!"

 

Katrien glared at the closed door and shouted, "I'm stitching his skull back together, you brute! Unless Morfindien doesn't mind if he loses some of his brain function?" Halvard muttered something about not having all day, and they knew their time was just about up. 

 

“Yes,” Eskil answered Thranduil in a whisper.  “We will help each other.”

 

Thranduil pulled a ring from his finger.  It was a jeweled ring his father had worn and his father before him, and he handed it to Eskil. "You must get a message to my kin.  This will grant you safe passage through the Greenwood.  Find my son Legolas, and give this ring to him. Tell him what has happened. Tell him our army is at your disposal.  He will see this ring and believe you, he will know that the order comes from me and will carry it out even if I should perish." Thranduil paused and then said, "If something happens to me, Eskil, it is important to me that my son receives that ring."

 

"I will see that he gets it," Eskil said with a nod and added, "Thank you. I am sorry, but we cannot free you now.  We have neither the tools nor the time to remove those irons."

 

"These cuffs are dwarven made and cannot be opened without the key or a dwarf locksmith. These men would kill you if you tried to free me," Thranduil said.  "And in order for this to work, you must live."

 

Katrien put the needle and thread aside and arranged his hair back in place.  As she helped pull his robe back up over his shoulders she said, “It is quite a beating they gave you, but remarkably you are holding up. Though you should try not to move around too much if possible. That gash is sewed closed, but could reopen if you move carelessly.” She glanced towards the door and said, “We will do what we can for you and hope you will do the same.” 

 

The door burst open and Halvard stepped through coming to collect Thranduil. 

 

"Alright, time's up," Halvard said.  He pushed Katrien aside and grinned as he looked Thranduil over.  "You did a fine job, Katrien," Halvard said.  "He looks almost presentable now. Come along, elf!" And with a hard tug at the chain, he yanked Thranduil from the exam table.

 

Thranduil threw a glance over his shoulder for a final look at the mortals, who stared back at him gravely, all except little Rona who studied him with a frown on her face. 

 

*****

 

As they neared the keep, the waves rose up with foamy crests, breaking with a cacophonous roar against the rocks that bolstered each side of the road.  The closer they drew to the tower, the more irritated Halvard became, and he yelled and beat upon any man who took a misstep.  He was nervous, Thranduil gathered, afraid to face this Morfindien for it was obvious that Halvard had defied his master's wishes by harming him.  

 

Thranduil was certainly curious to see what sort of man could be so ruthless.  What could this man want from him? _Gold,_ he thought at first, but it was apparent that he had a cache of wealth, enough to pay these men to ravage this seaport and murder a contingent of elves, risking death and war. 

 

Thranduil had not thought men had such a blatant disregard for their own short lives. It had to be a handsome sum indeed for these men to risk so much. 

 

What benefits were there to abducting him, Thranduil wondered.  His kingdom was not known for its wealth. He did not have a particularly affable relationship with the other elf kingdoms in Arda. It was more of a polite acquaintanceship.  If these men thought that he could be ransomed against the elf kingdoms, they were in for a rude surprise. 

 

Finally they had reached the gates and Thranduil gazed up as they passed through the entry and felt a chill sweep through him. The keep loomed overhead like an ominous specter, a relic of a once prosperous realm now reduced to its skeletal remains.  

 

There were men toiling away at repairing the damaged walls and supports, though Thranduil knew it to be folly. Below, the sea was like a staved off beast that roiled and churned at the rocky shore, but would one day rise up and claim this land.  No amount of restoration could stop this. 

 

Thranduil was prodded forcibly up great stone steps, and he saw why the men toiled to rebuild the structure.  As high tide drew nearer, the water level rose up into bricks of the keep, and Thranduil suspected the tower would not last through another century with the angry bickering of the sea lashing at it.  

 

As they climbed the stairs, Thranduil realized that the keep was precariously balanced on what was left of its support structure for the higher up they rose, the more prominently the building seemed to sway. Parts of the walls and floor had completely deteriorated-- in places, Thranduil could see straight through to the bottom where the dungeons were.  It was a miracle that anyone could inhabit this place, but the men trudged up the steps with familiarity.

 

They entered what was once a great throne room.  Now it was a skeleton, the bare bones of a once magnificent structure.  Halvard strode ahead of the group, taking the end of the chain and yanking Thranduil with him. 

 

“We’ve brought him,” the commander announced.  “He did not cooperate one bit, so he's a _touch_ roughed up.”

 

Despite the pains in his body and the chains weighing him down, Thranduil straightened to his full height, standing like the proud king he was before his captor. 

 

Across the dimly lit room, a figure in dark purple robes looked out what had once been a floor to ceiling window.  It was now just a rectangular opening, framed by decaying wood and damp stone. A single step through this rotted threshold lay a terrifying plummet and watery death.  The figure had long, black hair hanging loosely down his back and when he turned to regard him, Thranduil saw with a great shock that Morfindien was not a man, but an elf.  

 

_An elf has done this!_ Thranduil thought, and though he knew from experience that not every elf who lived was benevolent, Thranduil gaped all the same at his elven captor. 

 

His eyes were golden, an odd color for an elf to have, and it gave Morfindien a sinister, almost orc-like appearance. There was no light of compassion in these eyes, they were listless and predatory.  Thranduil did not know this elf, who would throw his lot in with men and murder his own kin. 

 

Morfindien came towards them and said, "Why do I find it hard to believe that you would have delivered him to me in any other state, Halvard?" Morfindien asked.  "Your cruelty will out.”  He walked around them, looking Thranduil up and down, seeming pleased by him despite his cuts and bruises.

 

"Was it his cruelty then, that had him slaughter my people?" Thranduil asked.  "Or yours?"

 

Morfindien stopped his stride, smiling a little as he did and replied, “It was mine.  Though I am sure Halvard enjoyed it. Would you, great Elvenking Thranduil, have understood the gravity of your situation otherwise?” Morfindien asked.

 

"And what situation is that?" Thranduil asked.

 

"You will do as I bid," the elf said to him. "Or your fate will be the same."

 

Thranduil said nothing.  He stared at Morfindien with calm, cool eyes that betrayed none of his concern.  Circumstances were not stacked in his favor, and he did not doubt that his life was in very real peril. While he had no wish to die, he would not be manipulated into harming his people.  Though he must not do anything to disrupt the agreement he had made with Eskil.  Much must go exactly right for Eskil to reach Legolas with his message in time to derail whatever nefarious plans Morfindien had in the works. 

 

Morfindien chuckled and said, “Look at you. Bound and bloody and still every inch a king. It is no wonder that you are one of the last survivors from the first age.” 

 

He stepped towards Thranduil, inspecting him as if he were a horse on an auction block.  He raised a hand towards Thranduil's face and Thranduil jerked back, but Halvard and two other men held him in place.  With one hand, Morfindien clasped Thranduil around the jaw, turning his head to see the cause of such bloodstains on his clothes and he tutted when he saw the wound Katrien had stitched up.  

 

"Halvard, this wound had better not have addled his mind or I will addle yours," Morfindien said.  "I see you've cleaned him up a bit to hide your violence."  He turned Thranduil’s face towards him and looked into each eye, checking to see that he was not concussed.

 

Becoming more and more agitated, Thranduil struggled to remove himself from Morfindien's firm grip, but the two men had their arms around him, and Halvard pulled taught on the chain, keeping his tethered arms from moving.

 

"What is it that you want from me?" Thranduil ground out. 

 

"No, no. You are not receptive now, and will be amenable to nothing," Morfindien said releasing him.  "Commander Halvard, take him to my rooms," he said with a dismissive wave. 

 

And Thranduil was maneuvered down a dark hallway and into a room that had more or less survived the years of disrepair. Halvard shoved him to the floor and locked the chain around a support column, giving him barely enough slack to sit. 

 

“I realize you've got no reason to listen to me," Halvard began as he turned towards the door, "and understand, it makes no difference to me one way or another-- but if you value your life, you’ll do as he asks,” Halvard said.  “I’ve seen no one defy him and live.”

 

With a slam of the door and the sound of the lock turning, Thranduil was left alone.  He stared at the door for several minutes before sitting back and leaning against the column he was chained to.  

 

 

Though exhaustion stole his strength, and his body screamed for a respite, Thranduil’s mind raced. Whatever he had been expecting-- it was not this.

 

 

_to be continued…_

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names Pronunciation Guide:
> 
> Halvard - hal-vard  
> Eskil - es-kuhl  
> Katrien - kaht-REEN  
> Rona - roh-na  
> Morfindien - more-finn-dee-en
> 
> I post Thranduil and Legolas art on [my art blog](http://griseldajane.tumblr.com/) and post Thranduil and Legolas related media on my [Mirkwood Family blog](http://mirkwoodfamily.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Feel free to join me at either location!


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt: _Sharp voices cut fast like knives, anger that burned, then gave way to fear,_ real _fear, and the knowledge that it may be too late. It_ was _too late._  

**SINGULAR FOCUS**  
**** Chapter Three ****

 

 

Dawn painted a somber light over the forest, overcast and gray, the morning rain like tears shed for the elves who had been slain within its depths.  All of the Greenwood seemed to mourn for its lost people.  

 

When the elves had embarked on their search for the king, they had been at least two days behind the marauders.  Through the day and night, Legolas had led the group of elves without respite, and they were now almost upon them.  At least, Legolas _believed_ this was so. The trail had gone cold and the trees were quiet. It was the longing in his heart alone that led them through the forest. They had long left the their borders and they were unknown to the trees that surrounded them.

 

Standing apart from the others, Legolas closed his eyes, and listened. The rain pelted his face, but he did not move, his ears intent as he hearkened for any whispers from the trees.

 

Though his mind knew the king was a fearsome and resilient elf, Legolas's heart was tormented.  An ache deep in his chest wore away at him, the way the flow of water wears down a rock in a riverbed.  He could not find peace knowing his father had suffered and was suffering yet.  Blood stained the pieces of his father’s crown and the violence done to the elves in his entourage did not foster much optimism that Thranduil was well in the clutches of these men.

 

Legolas and Thranduil were closer than many fathers and sons were. This meant that when they disagreed, they fought with each other fiercely, and when they reconciled, they loved each other better than most.

 

Legolas would not give up his hope. He mounted his horse and led the elves further east through the guidance of his heart alone.  Though his elves did not question him, and would follow their prince's every step, Legolas saw doubt clouding their eyes. There was real worry among them that they would not find their king alive, and what that eventuality might do to their prince.  Tauriel remained silent, though Legolas felt her troubled gaze heavy upon him as she stayed close by his side.

 

His eyes burned when he blinked, and for a moment his balance was uncertain, but Legolas pressed on, following the landscape as it sloped down and down into a valley. The path they trod narrowed until it came to an unexpected impasse, a mudslide of rock and tree trunks blocking the path through the vale, creating a barrier too mountainous for their horses to pass over.

 

“ _No,"_ Legolas whispered, riding his horse up to the blockade to inspect it. The trees had snapped and splintered, baring fresh wood, and the mud was wet and pliant around the large rocks embedded in it.  The barrier shifted dangerously when Legolas tried to gain a handhold on it.

 

The careless footsteps of the marauders and their horses had been many, and loosened the earth as they plodded onward. The rain saturated ground above the vale had buckled as water seeped into the slackened ground, causing the embankment to spill down into the path.

 

A fist of panic gripped Legolas’s heart. "We must get through," Legolas said. "They came this way.” He glanced back at Tauriel and said, “We must get through-- _we must!"_

 

"Legolas," Tauriel said gently.  "Even if they did go this way, it is closed to us now.  We will need to backtrack to find another route around."

 

"There isn't _time_ to backtrack!" he snapped. The prince dismounted and said, " _You_ go backward and find another way. I am climbing over the roadblock and continuing on _this_ path."

 

There was a ripple of movement through his group and Legolas had to turn away from the concerned faces of his fellow elves.  What Legolas stood to lose if Thranduil perished was enormous, not just his king, but his only family.

 

Legolas approached the blockade of upended trees and rock and mud, looking up at it with a frown.

 

"My lord, it is not a good idea to separate," Tauriel said.  "You do not know what awaits you on the other side.  This could be a trap."

 

"Every wasted moment might be a moment too late," he replied.  "We cannot afford to lose more time. We must make haste."

 

But Tauriel's words were sound and he could not ignore them.  After a moment, he sighed in resignation, his shoulders sagging under emotional strain. To the detriment of everything else, Legolas was fixated on his father, a singular focus amid his mounting trepidation.  

 

Tauriel was right. He could not leave the others and venture off alone despite his great compulsion to run.  Panic had taken the reins for a moment, and that would not do.  His father would be disappointed. Legolas forced himself to be still and to find solace in the forest around him, closing his eyes to concentrate. Thranduil would not panic and Legolas must do the same.

 

A blue crested jay bird flitted above the impasse, its feathers a brightness in the gloom.  It landed on an upended tree trunk, and then it flew onto Legolas’s forearm, hopping up towards his shoulder.

 

At the gentle weight on his limb, Legolas opened his eyes and regarded the bird.

 

"I am no tree, little bird," Legolas said, but when he looked at the blue jay he noticed something caught in its beak.  "What do you have there?" Legolas asked as the bird hopped closer to his face.  

 

Legolas grasped the long threads from its tiny beak and knew as soon as his fingers touched it that this little bird had a lock of his father's hair.  The jay flew to Tauriel and others in the group, showing all the flaxen strands of the Elvenking’s hair.

 

"You've seen my father," Legolas said.  "Can you lead us, little bird? Can you show us how to get around this obstruction?"  The jay landed on Legolas’s shoulder and cheeped in reply as if to say, _yes_.  

 

Though it was foolishly sentimental, Legolas found he could not part with the trinket, and he wound his father's hair into a loop and tucked it into a pocket for safekeeping.   

 

The bird flew from Legolas's shoulder to a fallen tree trunk, waiting until Legolas mounted his horse before flying up into the forest.  

 

The bird led the elves from the path into the thick, unfamiliar forest, but through the space between the trees where a rider might travel if going carefully.  It took more time than Legolas would have liked but he soon forgot his impatience when the road they had been on came back into view.  

 

They were far from their forest, having left the borders of the Greenwood sometime last evening, but the elves continued to travel south east, unrelentingly through the day until the light began to fade.

 

*********

 

The stone pillar was cool against his cheek as Thranduil slouched against it.  Exhaustion robbed him of care, and Thranduil had no impetus to move from where he had been left.

 

Much had happened in these past few hours. The hardest to bear was learning that his captor was an elf.  Morfindien would be far more formidable a foe than any man.  A taint of corruption clung to this elf, the wickedness of his intentions gleaming in his golden eyes, though Thranduil did not know what those intentions might be.

 

Thranduil shivered and raised his head up. This journey had taken its toll on him.  He had managed to rest for a few hours, but the pain of his head wound throbbed, though it had at least lessened since Katrien’s ministrations.  There was increasing hurt in his arms, the dwarven restraints growing heavier against his limbs, and Thranduil knew even if he were to escape from the keep, he would not get far with these irons encumbering him.  As long as he was imprisoned by these cuffs, there was little he could do.  He needed to find the key.

 

Thranduil sized up the small room, looking for any information that might aid him.  The room was somewhat put together, a small antechamber with a few rugs thrown across the dusty brick, a sette and a footstool, a pair of chairs and a writing table.  Thranduil guessed it was furnished with the best pieces the town had to offer, which wasn't saying much.  This sea port was in poverty, and would most likely die off within a generation if not sooner thanks to the outlaws that had overtaken it.  

 

There was another door on the opposite wall that was closed, the wood new, indicating it had been installed recently.

 

The sound of the sea crashing against the keep echoed up to him, and Thranduil found that it was soothing to him. Thranduil let his mind rest, intent on the roar of the waves.  It had been a millennia at least since he last heard such a sound.  

 

"It is soothing, is it not?"

 

Thranduil's eyes snapped open to see Morfindien standing before him, a wry smile on his face.  “I have always enjoyed the sea, its sounds, its mystery,” Morfindien said.

 

Wearing nothing but a robe cinched loosely at the waist, Morfindien looked to have just risen for the day as he padded barefoot across the room.  He carried a decanter set on a tray with one hand, which he set down on the table. “One day I will return to the sea, as I suppose all elves are destined to.”

 

Thranduil did not bother to stand up. Exhausted and chained as he was, Thranduil was unable to muster the strength to rise.

 

Morfindien was tall, though not as tall as Thranduil was, but then most elves did not have his height.  His robe was the color of a rich wine, a color partial to human royals. He carried himself in a graceless way, much the unknowing way a man might.  Thranduil guessed that this elf had lived among mortals or other folk for some time.

 

As Thranduil stared at him, Morfindien asked, “Have you no words for your host?”

 

“ _Kinslayer_ ,” Thranduil replied, feeling a surge of anger sharpen his tired mind.

 

Morfindien smirked, and replied, “No. They were no kin of mine.”

 

“You do not align yourself with elves,” Thranduil surmised.  

 

"It is more like they do not align themselves with me," Morfindien said.  "Elves are vain, petty creatures, lusting after beautiful trinkets and starlight. I am not consumed by such vanities.”

 

Morfindien turned away from him to pour them each a glass from the decanter.  As he poured, Thranduil noticed he did so with the use of only his right hand, that his left sleeve billowed freely, hanging empty from his shoulder.

 

_Morfindien has only one arm,_ Thranduil realized.

 

The Elvenking did not know how he had missed such an important detail. He thought back upon their first meeting, and realized Morfindien had only ever touched him with one hand-- his other limb had been a facsimile, worn as part of his garment. But now that he had come from sleep, he had no use to wear such a thing.

 

In the thin robe Morfindien wore now his bulk was diminished to a slender frame, his figure made even smaller by his missing arm.

 

Morfindien was at his most vulnerable, and yet Thranduil saw this as a power play, revealing his soft underbelly to his enemy to show how unthreatened he was by Thranduil. Perhaps Morfindien thought to shock him by his disfigured appearance. Being a skilled fighter that had survived Dagorlad and many battles since while reigning over a land encroached by the shadow of Mordor, Thranduil was not shocked by the aftermath of war.

 

Though he had enough diplomacy to not stare, Thranduil wondered what had befallen this disfigured, yellow-eyed elf.  

 

Morfindien chuckled as he looked down at him, and held out a glass.  “Take it. You must be thirsty,” he said.  “It is fresh water, which is as great a commodity as wine is in this seaport.”

 

Thranduil was too tired and thirsty to refuse, and he accepted the glass with both hands, finding that it was indeed only water, the much needed liquid cool and refreshing.

 

After he had drunk his fill, Thranduil asked, “Why am I here?”

 

“Because I have need of you,” Morfindien replied and sank to perch on the settee.  

 

“Not just anyone,” Thranduil said.  “Me specifically.”

 

“Yes, Thranduil Oropherion, you specifically,” Morfindien replied.  “Well, perhaps not specifically _you_ , but you were chosen for a specific reason.”

 

“Why all of this?” Thranduil asked, raising his cuffed wrists.  “If you need my help, then why did you not come to me and ask?”

 

“Like a common petitioner?” Morfindien snarled, his fingers tightening around the glass.  He suddenly realized his temper, and took a deliberate breath, composing himself.

 

“No, I should think not, and besides, you would not only have declined my request, you would have actively tried to stop me.  As you saw, my hired army is effective, but not against the legendary and dangerous elves of the Woodland Realm," he said. "At least, not against more than nine of you."

 

“And what is it that you would have me do?” Thranduil asked.

 

Morfindien gave him a closed mouthed smile and his eyes gleamed with excitement. “You are going to help me gain a ring of power,” Morfindien said.

 

The air in the room suddenly seemed to disappear, and he could only stare at Morfindien while he caught his breath.  

 

"I do not have one to give you," Thranduil said finally. "And if you mean to leverage me against the realms of Imladris or Lothlorien, then you have chosen your hostage poorly,” Thranduil replied.

 

Morfindien grinned again and said, “No, that would be a poor choice indeed. I would imagine that neither settlement is particularly fond of you or the greenwood elves,” Morfindien said.  “Although I am sure they feel enough solidarity through your shared race to come to your aid should I choose to ransom you.”

 

Morfindien put their glasses aside one at a time and leaned closer to Thranduil.  “No, you are going to help me _find_ a ring of power, one of the seven given to the dwarf lords that has gone missing.”

 

“Find a ring of power,” Thranduil repeated slowly, turning over the impossible phrase in his mind. “All the rings that are not accounted for are lost,” Thranduil said.  “Lost for _millennia_. Lost _forever_. You know this, surely.”

 

“How do you _know_ this? By the word of some dwarf who lost his to dragon’s fire?” Morfindien snarled, standing swiftly, as he burned with anger like a black flame. He said, “Did you witness their destruction with your own eyes?  Do you think the dwarves, in their greed for gold, are as careless as that? Perhaps the first dwarf king lost his to a dragon. No, not all of them are lost as the dwarves would have you think.”

 

“How do _you_ know this?” Thranduil asked.  “You are sure of this when you cannot be.”

 

“I will show you,” he said. Morfindien walked to the wall where a rope hung from the ceiling, and pulling it once, a bell rang outside the room, echoing through the crumbling keep. Morfindien turned in one sweeping gesture and left the antechamber through the newly installed doorway.

 

A few moments later, Halvard came in from the hall to collect him.  "Come on Elvenking, your presence is requested elsewhere," he said, unlocking the chain from the column.

 

Giving a sharp jerk on the shackles, Halvard smiled when he elicited a grunt of discomfort from him.  He enjoyed abusing Thranduil the way a bad tempered little boy might enjoy poking a tied up dog with a stick.  

 

Thranduil was led into a large room with high ceilings. Dust clung to the beams that still held up the chamber while paint peeled and cracked away from the faded walls.  Several marauder soldiers were stationed inside guarding the room. A four poster bed resided along the far wall, and a large monument stood in the center. It was made from polished black stone, an obelisk, with writing carved on all sides. It stood at least ten feet high.

 

The commander grumbled as Thranduil looked up at it and said, "the bloody thing took eight men and two full days to maneuver in here, but what Morfindien wants, Morfindien gets."

 

"What is this?" Thranduil asked as he walked around the obelisk.  On closer inspection the writing looked to be ancient dwarvish runes, but there was something off about them, the rows of text all seemed gibberish to Thranduil's eye.

 

"This is the reason you are here," Morfindien said. Thranduil turned towards his voice, seeing that in the time it had taken Halvard to bring Thranduil, Morfindien had dressed for the day. He was outfitted in a tunic, and a valet was fitting a facsimile limb made from metal around what remained of his left arm.  Thranduil realized this spacious room was where Morfindien slept.

 

"Do you like it Elvenking?" Morfindien asked, gazing up at the black stone monument.

 

“What is it?” Thranduil asked in reply.

 

“Your task,” Morfindien said, dismissing his valet with a wave. He walked over to stand beside Thranduil, his eyes never leaving the obelisk.

 

“Dwarves like to sing, did you know that?" Morfindien asked suddenly.  "The oral tradition of dwarves reveals alternate histories to the ones that are widely known throughout Middle Earth. In this way it was revealed to me that one of the rings given to dwarves was not lost to dragons, but hidden away. It took some investigating," he continued, "and several centuries to gain the trust of the dwarves, but finally I was accepted into their fold and the relic that inspired these songs was shown to me," and he gestured to the obelisk.

 

"This is a record of secret dwarven history?" Thranduil asked, looking up at the stone.

 

"Yes, a warning for future generations," Morfindien said, “but for me it is a map.”

 

"A map," Thranduil repeated. He looked up at the rows of dwarven gibberish and he started to understand.  "You cannot read this can you?"

 

Morfindien smiled. "These Dwarvish runes are in a cipher derived from their secret language, _khuzdul_. The dwarves I obtained this from did not know the translation, only that it referenced the ring given to their ancestor. The clever dwarf king who fashioned this thought to procure his ring for his future line by hiding his ring of power-- but he hid it a little too well.”

 

“You believe this tells you where he hid it?” Thranduil asked.

 

“Yes," Morfindien said.  "And like all things dwarven made it is immaculately crafted, a puzzle within a puzzle."

 

"Why come to me?" Thranduil asked. "I care little for dwarven culture and as such know little about it. Surely, I am an odd choice for such a task."

 

"How arrogant. You think you are the first? I've already dealt with dwarves!" Morfindien snapped. "The stubbornness of their race is by far their worst trait. Their elders were far too young to know anything of use. Do you realize how many dwarves I had to kill to keep word of my interest in this from spreading to their kin? The _only_ good that came from dealing with dwarves is the gold I inherited. Enough to employ an army of men for a hundred years at least."

 

He took a breath, calming himself, his golden eyes relaxing as he took steps towards Thranduil again. "No, King Thranduil, you are the perfect choice for many reasons," Morfindien said.  "You are several centuries older than I am-- than most living things actually, and when you were a young prince, I am sure you received an education befitting your station. That would have included learning to read this form of ancient dwarvish, which was not so ancient then.  You are older than this obelisk, Thranduil. I wonder, do you look at it and feel your years upon you? You will translate these runes for us and tell us where the ring is hidden."

 

Thranduil looked from the obelisk to Morfindien, his brow furrowed.  He almost thought to laugh at such a ridiculous story, but he saw plainly that Morfindien was not joking.

 

"You cannot mean this," Thranduil said, "to delve this deeply into fantasy and _believe_ it to be real.  That all of this is about a ring--."

 

"Not just _any_ ring," Morfindien said, his eyes widening with frenzy.  "A ring of _power_. Unparalleled power."

 

"You are all fools," Thranduil said, glancing around the room of men and then back to Morfindien. "Even with this text translated you cannot find that which is no more."

 

The disturbed elf took two quick steps towards him, his hand raised to backhand Thranduil across the face. Thranduil hefted his cuffed hands up, blocking the blow, but Morfindien grabbed him by the front of his tunic instead and hissed, "You will tell us what it says without your commentary."

 

Thranduil struggled to push him away, but Halvard pulled taught on the chain that tethered him, yanking his wrists down and away from Morfindien. Though he only had one arm, Morfindien was strong and had learned to be quite adept with his remaining limb.

 

"There were other reasons we chose you," Morfindien hissed.  "The first and most obvious is that you can read this language.  The second is that you do not have a ring of power to protect you or your people from us, so you were relatively _easy_ to take. The third is that you have a certain _beloved_ pressure point that can and will be exploited."

 

Thranduil went still with fury, his eyes blazing at the implication. He knew full well without him having to say it that the pressure point Morfindien meant to exploit was his son, Legolas.

 

"No good will come from a ring of power," Thranduil said. “Even if one did still exist, it would not be what you envision it to be. You imagine yourself with such a trinket to rival Lord Elrond or the Lady Galadriel, but those lost dwarven rings of power have long since been destroyed by dragons, and their power did not manifest as sources of good."

 

"You had best hope you are mistaken," Morfindien said.  "For your life depends on my having a ring upon my finger before my patience with you has ended."

 

Morfindien released his hold and Halvard locked the end of his chain to a steel loop in the floor.

 

"There is no point in arguing, Thranduil.  I am certain you can understand Khuzdul enough to translate this. You will stay here in this room until you finish with the translation," Morfindien said. "I will return this evening to check your progress."

 

He left Thranduil in the large room with the dark obelisk looming over him.

 

*****

 

 

Thranduil sank to the floor, resting his tired limbs from the weight of his bonds as he looked up at the black stone monument. Even if he could, Thranduil had no intention of translating the runes for this insane elf, though at present he did not know how he could avoid it for very long.

 

Patience was in finite supply and Morfindien was nearing the end of his. A sharp edge of urgency had underscored his words, letting Thranduil understand that sloth would not be tolerated.

 

Morfindien would most likely kill Thranduil immediately after he got what he wanted, the way he killed those dwarves he stole this obelisk from. Thranduil was certain that his life depended on his ability to dissuade Morfindien until he could escape, or until Eskil brought aid from the Woodland Realm. One thing was clear, if he wanted a chance to fight or to flee, Thranduil needed to find the key to these cuffs. They seemed to grow heavier with every passing hour. Was it dwarven magic or his own weakening body that made it so?

 

In the mean time, Thranduil studied the stone, looking for runes he might know, but it was all gibberish unless he could break the cipher. No matter what these runes revealed, Thranduil was not so foolish as to let Morfindien know what they said.  He would not be responsible for letting a ring of power go free.

 

What Morfindien had speculated about him was somewhat true-- Thranduil had learned _some_ khuzdul thousands of years ago, when he was a young prince and the dwarves were slightly less secretive about their language. It had been for diplomatic purposes. His father had taught him to arm himself with every weapon in his arsenal and that included language. A king should always know what is being said to him or about him, and so the future king had had lessons. His knowledge of khuzdul was passable at best. He knew enough to understand what was being said to him, however he could not construct sentences.

 

It had been an awfully long time ago.  Thranduil had not thought on that part of his life for thousands of years and he smiled a little, remembering his father's insistence and those sunny days of his too short youth. It had been more than an _age_ since then, and for an instant Thranduil felt the years stacked against his shoulders. He was so very old and had, in part, been chosen for this task because of it.  Legolas, who enjoyed reminding him that he was an ancient creature, would have a hearty laugh at that-- if Thranduil survived this to see him again.  Thranduil would not despair yet, but as he gazed up at the obelisk a feeling of doom spilled over him like the shadow cast from the tall stone.

 

Thranduil gave pause, thinking about his son. Though they were very far apart, Thranduil could sense Legolas, searching, worrying.  His son's distress was a distant, aching knot in his chest. Thranduil lifted one of his cuffed hands and clasped it in a fist over his heart.

 

_My leaf,_ Thranduil thought, _Be not afraid. You have all my love. May it ease your troubled heart._

 

There was nothing Thranduil could do for Legolas except stay alive and try to abscond from this place if afforded the chance.

 

During the long trek to this desolate seaport, Thranduil never could have imagined he’d be wanted for such a task.  Though Morfindien had laid his reasons bare, Thranduil found them suspect.  It did not entirely make sense for Morfindien to choose an elf for this task, no matter what he'd said. It was far more likely that a dwarf would be able to break the cipher of his people than an elf.  If dwarves had been less stubborn, and Morfindien had had more patience, Thranduil would never have been involved.  But he was involved now and Thranduil could not turn away from this responsibility. Morfindien had to be stopped and the people of this sea port needed aide.

 

_I was chosen for a specific reason_ , Thranduil thought, _but not for any of the reasons he told me._ Thranduil brooded over what other purpose Morfindien could have in bringing him here.

 

Suddenly sensing that he was not alone, Thranduil looked up to see Halvard grinning down at him. Though his expression remained unchanged, Thranduil worried that he had not heard Halvard approach. That he did not, revealed how weakened he had become. Though his head wound was healing, he had lost quite a bit of blood in the long journey here. Nor had he had proper rest or food the entire time. Thranduil had a strong will, but that strength was now wavering.

 

Coming around the obelisk, Halvard crouched beside Thranduil, tilting his head in reflection.

 

"I like you, Elvenking," Halvard said suddenly with a rusty laugh.  "You are not at all what I was told you'd be. You look like a delicate flower, but you are really tough as a dragon's tooth. I can respect that."

 

"I do not care for, nor do I need your respect," Thranduil replied.

 

Halvard laughed again.  "No, I don't expect you would. I ain't sorry for what I done," Halvard said.  "But it wasn't personal, and it won't be personal when I get mine one day."

 

This surprised Thranduil for Halvard seemed the type that would not be accepting of justice. "You admit there is a fair price to pay for the choices you make," Thranduil said.

 

"That's the way of it," Halvard said.  "You can't be in my line of work and expect nothing else."

 

"You've done this work for a long time," Thranduil guessed.  "Working for Morfindien."

 

Halvard nodded. "Longest employer I've ever had. Been with him for years.  Originally, he hired me to teach him how to sword fight one handed, but he was really testing me to see if I was formidable enough to keep up with him. Don't let his handicap fool you, he's as skilled with one hand as any man ever was with two. He can look vulnerable, but that's just when he springs at you."

 

Halvard, it seemed, liked to talk and Thranduil let him ramble, for the more the man talked, the more he gave away.

 

"He wasn't born deformed, you know," Halvard said.  "He had two arms, just like you and me. I think it was losing his arm that twisted him a bit."

 

“Do you know what happened to him?” Thranduil asked. Halvard should know better than to answer, but the man had not come to him for idle chatter. He was clearly looking for something too, a confessor perhaps, and thought Thranduil could provide it.

 

Halvard shook his head. “Not everything. He's tight lipped about it, you know? From what I can gather, his suffering was truly awful, especially for one of your race. Morfindien was captured by orcs."

 

Thranduil saw from Halvard's expression that even a man with his morals could understand the horror of being taken by orcs.

 

"Tortured, he was," Halvard continued.  "And then left to die, to bleed out, his arm taken clean off!  He survived, but the experience left him changed. He may have been born an elf, but he's not like you anymore. Don't think that your shared heritage will save you."

 

Halvard appeared to be sincere.  Though his primary incentive was the gold he would be paid upon finding the ring, Thranduil saw a weariness in him.   _He wants this all to be over_ , Thranduil thought.   _He believes that once Morfindien has the ring, the hardship will be over, but it will just be the beginning._

 

"You know why he’s so desperate for that ring?” the commander asked.  “He’s going to wear it on that metal arm of his with the hopes that the power in it will control the forged limb like it was made of flesh.”

 

Thranduil’s lips pressed to a thin line.  “Even if he had a ring of power, I’ve never heard of a ring manifesting its power in that way,” he said. "They rarely do the bearer's bidding."

 

“He thinks the dwarven ring might work on his dwarven-forged arm,” the commander said.  “Even if it doesn’t work, he’ll still command power and respect with a ring like that-- and the wealth he'll amass--  He’ll be able to turn this sea port into his own kingdom.”

 

“It’s pretty fantasy,” Thranduil said.  “You have to see that. These are wild imaginings based on the folk songs of the dwarves. With the gold he has already, Morfindien could turn this sea port around. He could be their benefactor instead of their overlord.”

 

“He can think of nothing else except that ring. I’m just here until the gold runs out,” the commander said with a shrug.  “You’d best agree to help him.  You’re trying what little patience he has,” the commander said.  

 

“If I die what chance does he have of translating that text?” Thranduil asked.  “Can he find another translator before his gold runs out to pay you?”

 

“What does it matter if you’re dead?” Halvard asked in reply.  "Take my advice-- do as he asks.  Much lifeblood has been spilled in the getting of this ring. He'll have no qualms about spilling yours too."

 

Now that Thranduil had his respect, Halvard no longer felt he was expendable.

 

"There's no nobility in dying," Halvard continued.  "I've killed enough people to know the waste of it.  If you're as old as he says, I would think you'd have more to offer alive than dead."

 

“Then free me,” Thranduil said.

 

Halvard surprised him by considering it for a moment. “What will you give me if I do?” Halvard asked.

 

“I will not kill you the moment I am free,” Thranduil said.

 

"That's not much incentive," Halvard replied.  "Morfindien would kill _me_ surely if I let you loose. What else have you to offer?"  

 

"I offer you nothing. I will not reward you to do what is right. You killed my people and abused me when the chance arose," Thranduil said. "It makes no difference to you if I die."

 

"It'd be a shame is all," Halvard said quickly. "A waste.  Besides, the sooner Morfindien gets that ring, the sooner I get the other half of my pay." Halvard cast a glance up at the obelisk.  "I don't like this thing.  It gives me the creeps.  The quicker we can be rid of it, the better."

 

Thranduil stared up at it.  For as coarse as Halvard was, he was astute in this.  The obsidian stone had a bad aura about it for sure. Looking at it for too long made Thranduil feel ill and he saw that Halvard felt the same way.

 

"What do you know of the stone?" Thranduil asked.

 

"Very little," Halvard said. "Dwarven made, east of the Iron Hills.  I'll tell you one thing-- that obelisk was never meant to leave the mountain, was the very devil to chisel out and carry."

 

"But Morfindien felt he could not leave it," Thranduil surmised.  

 

"Aye," Halvard said.  "It had become precious to him and you'd better figure out what it says.  If not you, he’ll find someone else to torment, even if he has to wait another hundred years for the chance.  You’re not the first he’s gone to." He gestured to the obelisk.  “Morfindien first got involved with the dwarves hundreds of years ago when he commissioned them to make his metal arm. He paid them ten times what it was worth and that helped pave the way for an accord between them. Once he’d gained the trust of the dwarves, and he learned about the ring, he tried everything to get them to tell him what the obelisk said. They insisted that the cipher had been lost, but Morfindien didn't believe them.  In a rage one night, he locked them in their forgery with the fires stoked and the doors welded shut as we carried the blasted thing out.  He killed hundreds of dwarves that night-- dwarves that were the closest thing to _friends_ he'll ever have… he’ll have no qualms about killing you and all your kinfolk too.”

 

"It bothers you," Thranduil said.  "What he did to the dwarves.  What you helped him to do."

 

Halvard looked away from him and said, "What's done is done. Can't take it back. But I won't make the same mistake twice.  Got a feeling this is going the same way.  Never thought an elf would be as stubborn as a dwarf.  Do the translation. Spare yourself and your people."

 

Halvard left Thranduil to do his work. His chain prevented him from walking very far, but Thranduil had enough length to maneuver to the windows.  Through the open frame, Thranduil watched Halvard ride off on his horse with six other men.   _What an odd contraction of a man,_ Thranduil thought, but then, nobody who Thranduil had met here was who he first appeared to be.

 

There was nothing to do now except consider the obelisk and how he might supply Eskil with more time to find his son.  A sigh escaped between Thranduil's lips as he looked up at his unhappy task.

 

_What a persuasive voice Morfindien must possess to convince the dwarves to accept an elf into their fold_ , Thranduil thought. And like wolf among the lambs, Morfindien had smiled and played docile, waiting for the perfect moment to bare his teeth.   _The fury those dwarves must have had when they discovered Morfindien had deceived them,_ Thranduil thought.  

 

Thranduil was not certain about anything except that this elf had become mad.  Dreams of a ring had corrupted him almost as surely as the real thing would.

 

Walking slowly around the stone, Thranduil looked up at the rows of ancient dwarven runes, his mind drifting-- the world became soft and dark, and impressions of the past echoed through his mind.  Sharp voices cut fast like knives, anger that burned, then gave way to fear, _real_ fear, and the knowledge that it may be too late. It _was_ too late.  

 

_It is already too late_ and his breath quickened, his heart beating faster. Doom had come among them as an innocuous trinket and freed it must be--

 

“No!” Thranduil said and drew away. Thranduil realized that he had been touching the stone, the dark object so much more than what it appeared.  The thing had a draw to it, and for a moment, the obelisk had sucked him into its history.  Thranduil knew this stone had more to tell, its secret must be terrible, maybe even as terrible as Morfindient suspected.  

 

Thranduil blinked, realizing quite some time had passed. Possibly hours had elapsed as he stared in a trance at the obelisk.  As he came back to himself he saw that Morfindien had returned. He stood watching Thranduil watching the stone with soft eyes, a crooked smile on his lips.

 

“I know I did well in choosing you,” he said, gliding over to Thranduil’s side.  “I know that look,” he said.  “It’s taken you in. It speaks to you.”

 

“This stone… it is not just an inscription.  There is real magic surrounding it,” Thranduil said.

 

“Yes. Now you understand why I had to have this," Morfindien said. "Tell me what you have learned so far."

 

As he turned to face him, Thranduil noticed a glint of light at his throat and saw that around his neck hung a necklace with great key of iron, shaped in the dwarven geometry.  It was the key to his cuffs, the only thing preventing him from escaping.

 

Thranduil did not stare lest it give away that he had noticed. But now that he knew where the key was, his hope for freedom soared.   

 

"I have learned nothing except that there is a great evil surrounding this stone," Thranduil said.  “You should never have removed it from its resting place.”

 

“There is no use in telling me what I _should_ have done,” Morfindien scoffed.  “No one knows better than I do that things cannot be undone or time reallotted. I am losing my patience with you, Thranduil.”

 

Angry shouting drifted up to the keep’s windows, stealing Morfindien’s attention away from Thranduil. Morfindien made his way to the window and Thranduil followed.  Looking down, he saw the outlaws riding quickly towards the castle, kicking up sand in their haste before they reached the remains of the paved road. Beyond them a few townspeople had gathered, yelling after them, but daring not to venture too close to the keep’s entrance.   

 

There was dissent among the men. Something had happened and they rode as if chased by the Nazgul.  In a few minutes the door burst open and Halvard entered looking shaken.  He was not filled with his usual confidence and Morfindien knew right away without his saying a word that he had blundered.

 

"What have you done now Halvard?" Morfindien accused.

 

"Well, it couldn't be helped, sir," Halvard said.  "I had to stop him."

 

_"Who?"_ Morfindien asked.

 

"That Eskil," the commander said.  "He just _had_ to cross me after I made it known that there would be rules-- curfew and restrictions."

 

Morfindien's eyes narrowed.  "I forbade you from interfering with that man, Halvard."

 

"I know what you told me, but he was trying to escape," the commander explained.  "No one's supposed to go beyond the town gate," he said.  "No one gets out, that’s what you said! The man had to be stopped.  That's all I tried to do, I swear.  I didn't mean to kill him."

 

Thranduil closed his eyes, sorrow trembling his heart for the man who had shown him kindness from the first, who had risked his life for him and lost it.

 

Morfindien grew still, his eye blazing a fiery gold.  "You killed him," he said, stalking slowly towards Halvard, who backed away from him, his eyes wide.  "Tell me, Halvard," Morfindien said as he reached for him.  "Tell me why I should not kill _you_ right now."

 

"It was an accident!" he cried.  "Eskil was riding recklessly as we chased him and he fell with his horse when we tried to stop him.  The horse rolled on him, and he was crushed."

 

"That man commanded a lot of respect in this town, Halvard," Morfindien said. "How we treated him showed everyone how they could expect to be treated by us.  The town will be upset.  Perhaps now they will have motivation to rebel against us when we are at our weakest! They’ve already come as far as our front door."  

 

"He didn't suffer," Halvard offered.

 

"You think it matters how _quickly_ he died?" Morfindien snarled.  "We lost more than half of our forces to the elves-- we cannot afford an uprising!"

 

Morfindien moved like a flash of lightning, sudden and silent, hefting his metal arm across Halvard’s chest, pinning him back against the wall.  With his one hand, Morfindien grabbed Halvard by his face, his thumb pressing into the commander's eye.

 

Thranduil took a step towards them and said, “Killing him will not undo what is done.” Morfindien snarled and redoubled his grip.

 

"Oh, please don't," Halvard pleaded, grappling futilely against Morfindien's elven strength.  Even with only one limb to hold him with, his grasp was unrelenting.  "You said yourself we've lost half our forces!" he cried desperately.  "You need every able bodied man at your side!"

 

Thranduil watched appalled, and holding his breath, he waited for Morfindien to put his fingers through Halvard’s skull.  

 

"For once, Halvard,” Morfindien said, “you are right.” He released his grasp and Halvard slid to the floor, his hand covering his abused eye.  "You best figure out ways to make this up to me before I hire new soldiers."

 

Morfindien turned away from the commander, and when he passed Thranduil his eyes were wild and hungry with the need for violence.  The mad elf reached for the obelisk with a shaky hand, contact with the dark stone seeming to soothe him as he leaned upon it for support.

 

 

*****

 

 

That evening Katrien came to the keep with her daughter Rona. Not wanting to further anger the people, Morfindien granted her an audience. Her face was pale and her eyes were red. The strong woman Thranduil had met a day earlier looked defeated, though he hoped her grief would not permanently douse her fire.   

 

"I've come to ask permission to bury Eskil in the forest," she said.  Her sorrow was evident and Thranduil shared it with her.  It was in part his fault that Eskil had been killed. Had he not been attempting to leave the seaside village to get word to the Greenwood, he may still be alive.

 

Morfindien was benevolent and expressed his regret that her father in law had been killed. "Of course.  My men will escort you and help dig the grave."

 

"If it is all the same, my family wishes privacy to grieve," she said.   

 

Rona held fast to her mother while she negotiated the terms of the burial with Morfindien, but her eyes were intent on Thranduil. He stared back at the little girl, wondering why she held his gaze.  And then her hand reached for her throat, playing with a necklace hidden beneath her cloak.  She raised it just enough and Thranduil saw what it was-- the ring he'd given Eskil strung on a chain, Oropher's ring that he was to deliver to Legolas as message to bring aid to the sea port-- and Rona, though only a child, nodded once before tucking the necklace back under her cloak.  

 

With a shock, Thranduil understood that Rona meant to take up her grandfather's task of traversing the wilds to find the elves of the Greenwood.  A thrill of distress for this child shot down his spine.  This was no task for a child-- a human child at that.  He gave her his most stern warning look and tried to shake his head _no_ without drawing attention, but Rona was as headstrong as her mother and she simply tucked his ring back under her cloak and looked away.

 

_To be continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! This is the longest chapter to date, clocking in at over 7K words. I hope it was worth the wait. :)
> 
> I post Thranduil and Legolas art on my [art blog](http://griseldajane.tumblr.com) and post Thranduil and Legolas related media on my [Mirkwood Family blog](http://mirkwoodfamily.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Feel free to join me at either location!


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt: _Fear fractured his heart, allowing darkness to slip inside. What a fool he was, to live with such optimism, to think that his darkest days were behind him, that the loss of his mother to the evil forces of this world would have exempted him from further sacrifice._

**SINGULAR FOCUS**

**** Chapter** **Four ****

 

The cold crept inward as night fell upon the keep, the winter season's savage embrace no longer held at bay by the sun’s warming glow. 

 

Thranduil folded his arms across his chest as much as his chains would allow and shivered against the cold, somewhat stunned that he felt the sting of it. The sea air whipped through the gaping holes in the tower, thick with salt and as harsh as the bitterest of winters.  As Thranduil huddled in his robes, he understood that his vitality was dwindling.  The wound on the back of his head was healing at a sluggish pace.  The stress done to his mind and body, paired with the deprivation of food and rest, had compounded until Thranduil felt stretched thin, the weight of his long life becoming heavy to bear. Though elves would claim that age had little effect on them, like all living things, they were not exempt from its ravages. 

 

With great effort, he lifted his shackled hands to his face. Time was running out for him, and he could no longer hope to be rescued before he succumbed to his ills.  If Thranduil did not remove these cuffs soon, they would surely mean his death.  

 

Eskil had perished, and with him so did Thranduil’s hope. There was little likelihood that his elves would find him sooner or more prepared than they would by tracking a waning lead through an unfamiliar forest.  Sparing a moment of worry for little Rona, who could be alone in those woods right now, Thranduil admitted there was nothing he could do for her at the moment, except perhaps distract Morfindien and his marauders from looking towards the forest. 

 

Less than thirty feet from where Thranduil stood, Morfindien lay in his bed. His tantrum earlier had expended him.  It had taken much effort for Morfindien to control his anger and not violently murder Halvard for the bad news he brought.

 

Though he lay still, his golden eyes tracked Thranduil's every movement, like a hawk sighting its prey. Thranduil regarded him coolly. Even though his head throbbed, his muscles screamed in pain, and he shivered from lack of warmth and exhaustion, Thranduil would not be easy quarry. 

 

Morfindien moved then, rising from his bed as if Thranduil's thoughts had summoned him.  He bent to grab a candelabra from its perch on floor as he approached Thranduil, the flickering light under his pale face accenting his already sinister appearance. 

 

The building swayed as the wind howled through it, leaning to the west with a groan, and Morfindien chuckled.  

 

"Do you feel that?” Morfindien asked as he set the candelabra down at his feet.  "The men are afraid of this place for it reminds them of their impending mortality.  They do not sleep in the tower, preferring their shanties on the beach.  Sometimes Halvard stays here, but he is unique among the men.” He paused, thinking a moment, his thoughts undoubtedly focused on the commander. “I am glad I did not kill him. I would have... regret it. Though I suspect he is out there with the others, sulking a bit…” 

 

Morfindien peered up into Thranduil's face and said,  “You and I are very nearly alone.” His golden eyes were searching as if abruptly realizing that Thranduil was not only a means to an end.

 

Thranduil did not know what to make of the look Morfindien gave him, and considered his words carefully. "You are unaccustomed to company," Thranduil remarked.  

 

"I do not need company," Morfindien insisted. “I have never needed it.”

 

"So you say. And yet-- you seek it. You have sought my company more than a few times," Thranduil said.  Morfindien opened his mouth to deny it, but Thranduil interrupted. "It is alright to be curious about your people. When was the last time you were with another of your kind?"

 

"There is not another of _my_ kind," Morfindien replied as he turned away, his face pinched in a scowl. His gaze flitted back to Thranduil, raking over him, taking in his haggard appearance. Then, reaching out with his one hand, he touched Thranduil’s hair, fingering his fair locks gently.  "Even so battered and bruised, you are beautiful," Morfindien remarked, winding the flaxen strands around his fingers. "I used to be beautiful once." 

 

Something dark flickered across Morfindien’s face, either devious intent or remembrance of it, Thranduil could not say. Knowing Morfindien's touch could turn from gentle to violent in a heartbeat, Thranduil remained still.  Morfindien laughed softly as he tightened his grip, tugging Thranduil towards him by the hair. It did not hurt, but he wound his fingers tighter, securing a firmer hold on him.

 

 "You do not like me to touch you," Morfindien observed.  "No one does,” he said. 

 

"I am your prisoner," Thranduil replied. " Any touch under these chains is a transgression."

 

"But if you were unchained... you would welcome my touch?" Morfindien asked, drawing nearer, looking up into his face, searching Thranduil's eyes for signs of desire or revulsion. 

 

Thranduil stayed where he was, unmoved, despite the thrill of anxiety that turned in his stomach. Weakened as he was, it would take very little for Morfindien to overpower him and force himself upon Thranduil if he so chose. While it was obvious that Morfindien was unbalanced, Thranduil did not know how far he had degenerated or where the limits of his decency laid.  Elves generally did not make such terrible transgressions, but orcs _did_ , and Morfindien's behavior thus far favored that of his captors more so than his race. 

 

But Morfindien did not advance further. It seemed he truly did want to know Thranduil's honest reaction to him. His boldness was nothing more than curiosity, or else an experiment, attempting to see how a king of elves would react to him, and pity for this creature washed over Thranduil for the first time. 

 

_He wants me to touch him,_ Thranduil thought, and he wondered when the last time an elf had laid a hand on him in camaraderie.   _Perhaps he was taken from his clan very early in his life,_ Thranduil thought. _He seems uncertain about anything other than cruelty._

 

Morfindien scoffed, tossing Thranduil's hair back in his face.  "I know what _your_ desire is-- to be unchained.  It would be mine if our positions were reversed." Like a pendulum, his pensive mood was starting to swing in the other direction. Thranduil had to act quickly if he hoped to appeal to him before Morfindien's darker side took the helm. 

 

"Morfindien, let me go," Thranduil said.  "We are kin, you and I.  Release me."

 

Morfindien let out a sharp laugh.  "You know the terms of your release. I will not free you until I possess the ring." Morfindien walked past him towards the obelisk. He reached out, his hand gently tracing along the engraved runes with a loving caress.  

 

“The stone speaks in its way, as it spoke to you earlier. Despite my devotion to it, I am unable to make sense of what it says,” he replied.  “I suspect I am too damaged.  I walk as if between two worlds and cannot clearly hear the song of either.”  As Morfindien looked up at the obelisk, his hair fell away from his shoulders, and Thranduil saw the key to his cuffs still dangling around his pale line of neck.

 

His only hope of acquiring that key was to have Morfindien give it to him in exchange for something he wanted even more than the ring. Thranduil had an idea of what that might be. 

 

“You’ve been through much in your life and it has shaped you,” Thranduil said as he slowly came to stand beside the dark haired elf.  "Help me to understand. Tell me what happened... How did you lose your arm?"

 

The question ignited Morfindien, the mere thought of it filling him with such rage that his golden eyes seemed to burn. He moved smoothly, advancing on Thranduil like oil spilling across the floor, slick and silent and just as deadly when met with an angry spark. 

 

"You want to know?" he asked, his voice rising. "You want to satisfy your macabre fascination with the deformed?" he snarled. Taking a step back from Thranduil to give himself room, Morfindien reached under his robe at the shoulder, unfastening the holster for his false arm.  The metal appendage clattered to the floor.  He let his robe fall from his torso, and pulled at the lacings of his shirt, baring his marred flesh for Thranduil to see.  

 

This elf bore the unmistakeable marks of torture.  Deep scars crisscrossed his pale body. The scar tissue of what remained of his left arm was deeply disfigured.  Thranduil had only seen wounds like these once before-- on the bodies of elves that had been tortured to death by orcs. How Morfindien had survived such a thing, Thranduil did not know.

 

"Do I repulse you?" he snarled. "You would not be the first. Elves in particular find me very difficult to look at."

 

"Your actions repulse me," Thranduil replied. “Not this.”

 

“Oh, _benevolent_ King,” he mocked with a half hearted bow.  “Do you think I want your pity or your pretty words?”

 

“No,” Thranduil answered. “And while I cannot pretend to know what it was like to survive the hands of orcs, I do know of deformity.”

 

“A beautiful creature like you?” Morfindien threw his head back and laughed.  “What do you know of deformity?”

 

“I will show you what few have seen,” Thranduil said. “I will show you the true face of the king.”

 

Taking a breath, Thranduil closed his eyes, delving deep inside himself to will away a glamour that masked long acquired injuries, allowing his damaged face to be seen.  The glamour had become such a part of himself, that it was as if he _had_ fully healed and the damaged skin was as if a mere memory. Calling forth his old wounds pained him, but only slightly. It was the remembrance of the burn that hurt, not the scar tissue left in its wake. 

 

“What magic is this?” Morfindien gasped, his eyes wide.  “It cannot be so.”

 

Thranduil shook his head. “It is not you alone who has been scarred by this world,” he said.

 

Morfindien sucked in a gasp, and asked, "How did you _do_ that? Your face was not damaged before-- I _touched_ you-- you were whole."

 

His gold eyes were round and fascinated. For a moment all his torment fell away and he seemed like a child, curious and allured by his enchantment.  Thranduil watched carefully as Morfindien approached, his hand extended to feel Thranduil's damaged and scarred face. Thranduil held himself still, allowing Morfindien to touch him.  There were only two elves alive who knew the full extent of his injuries-- Lord Elrond whose healing had undoubtedly saved his life, and Galion, his faithful servant who had tended to him in the arduous months that followed. Not even Legolas knew this secret.  

 

But this was his one chance to make a connection with Morfindien, and he could not afford to hold anything back. In this moment, Morfindien was a different being, not a ruthless, vicious creature, but a damaged elf, scared and alone in his torment.

 

"These are real scars," Morfindien breathed.  "This is not a trick."

 

"This is my true face," Thranduil said.  "Ages ago, I was burned by dragon fire.  I should have perished by these wounds.  That I did not, I've been told, was due to my stubbornness. I willed myself to live through it-- though I will concede with some help from a few others."

 

"I do not know how I survived," Morfindien whispered. "By all rights I should have died, and yet somehow..."

 

"You endure," Thranduil supplied. Morfindien nodded, and in that moment a different elf stood before him, one that was tired and heartbroken with all viciousness stripped away.

 

"It took a long time to recover and even longer to learn how to maintain this magic," Thranduil said, taking a moment to rebuild the glamour and restore his usual look. “But we are elves. We have all the time in the world to learn such magic. There are elven healers who can show you how to cope with the damage that’s been done to you. In time, you may find to accept what has happened, and have no need to hide,” Thranduil said. “Leave all of this behind you. Let me go, and I will take you to the Greenwood.”

 

Morfindien’s eyes changed, suddenly, violently, the color bleeding from gold to green, and he seemed to shrink as if transforming before Thranduil's eyes into a different being, his entire persona shifting. Buried deep beneath the anger and violence, lived the elf that Morfindien had been, the remnants of the poor soul that had existed before he had been captured by orcs. 

 

When Morfindien spoke his voice was soft, and no longer confident. "You offer this to me _now_?" he asked. "Where were you five hundred years ago? Even a hundred years ago? Where were you when it could have made a difference?" Morfindien cried, tears glittering in his eyes. "It is too late now," Morfindien said. 

 

"It doesn't have to be," Thranduil said. 

 

"But it is," he said. "I am too far gone.   _These_ moments come so briefly now." 

 

Thranduil was unsure of what to make of that comment, but he lifted his shackled hands, brushing a lock of Morfindien’s dark hair away from his face before gently palming his cheek, granting Morfindien the touch he so desired.  “You are not beyond hope," he said. 

 

It had been a long time since anyone had touched Morfindien in comfort and kindness. He shivered, his eyes falling closed as Thranduil touched him. A flush crept up his pale face as he leaned into Thranduil's hand. 

 

"There is nothing that can give me my arm back," Morfindien said. "No magic tricks that can disguise that."

 

"No," Thranduil admitted quietly. "But healing starts from within, where it matters most."

 

Morfindien shifted his weight, and curled his fingers around Thranduil’s arm. “You would help me? A kinslayer? A monster?” he whispered, his head bowed.

 

“Yes, I would help you,” Thranduil said.  “Let me go. We can leave this place together," he whispered.

 

"We can leave..." Morfindien whispered, his voice trailing off as his gaze focused over Thranduil's shoulder, falling upon the obelisk. 

 

It happened in a flash. Suddenly Morfindien's grip became painful, and he yanked Thranduil towards him with a great pull.  He blinked and his eyes were monstrous again, a freakish gold flecked with the need for violence. Whatever softness that had been present was now gone.

 

“What a _viper_ you are,” he hissed, using his brute strength to knock Thranduil down to the floor.  “Tempting me with fantasy and a compassionate touch.  You think I have any compassion left?” he growled. 

 

Morfindien twisted Thranduil's bound hands against the chain, sending a shooting pain through Thranduil’s wrists.

 

“You must think me a great fool indeed,” Morfindien said. "Go back to the Greenwood with you, and be executed-- I think not." 

 

A fiendish gleam shone in his eyes as he bent to gather the candelabra from the stone floor, and now knowing that Thranduil had been disfigured from fire, he hurled the lit candle tree at him with perverse glee.

 

Thranduil rolled enough to escape the brunt of the candelabra, but hot wax splattered up at him and he hissed as droplets of wax burned spots on his hands. The tiny flames licked at the hem of his robes, but mercifully did not catch hold of him. 

 

"I hate orcs," Morfindien said.  "But an orc _is_ an orc.  It is in its nature to be vile. You can expect nothing less. But _elves_ \--," he hissed, the word like an epithet on his tongue. "Elves are supposed to be noble and wise-- granted favored by the Valar-- but they are undeserving of it! Elves are cunning liars with an arrogance that is matched only by their vanity. I hate elves even _more_ than orcs. I was left to die _and did not._ When I escaped my tormentors after decades of abuse at their hands, I needed compassion from my people-- instead I was met with revulsion and terror.  I was turned away for fear of what I had become, though it wasn’t true just then.  I have become the monster your lot would have me be-- and you would be right to fear me now." 

 

From the floor, Thranduil looked up at him and shook his head.  "We were wrong to have treated you so," he said.  "The behavior of our kind was shameful. I would make amends for our part in your suffering. I offer you peace in the Greenwood." 

 

"Why would I trade unlimited power for the kinship of those I hate? Why would I submit to you, when I could be a king in my own right? There is no redemption for me. You are a fool to try to find it. I am a wicked thing and have learned to enjoy it.”

 

“Your torment could be ended,” Thranduil gasped as he sat up, cradling his hands against his chest.

 

“I _embrace_ the torment,” he shot back, "the fire that still burns like a phantom in my missing limb.  You’d best get to work, Elvenking.  You will not live through another night unless I have what I want.”

 

*****

 

Legolas navigated his horse carefully along the uneven dirt path, leading his soldiers through the unfamiliar forest.  The landscape swept up steeply into rocky and mountainous terrain as trees gave way to the land's end where the woods sharply met the shoreline. This was an odd place, not completely a forest and not quite the sea. If he listened carefully he could hear the crash of waves just beyond the treeline. 

 

It was well after sundown, and the elves were weary from traveling for days without rest, though they did not complain for they would do anything for their prince.  All the same, Legolas knew he could not ask any more of them this night. He raised his hand, signaling a stop and they obediently halted their fatigued steps.

 

“We will rest here until first light,” he said, though he would find no repose until he had Thranduil in his grasp. 

 

Legolas searched within himself along the bond he shared with his father, trying to make sense of what he felt there. The gentle warmth that had always been Thranduil, that should always live in his heart, was as dim as it had ever been. The bond no longer pained him for how faint it was, an indication that Thranduil himself was losing his vigor.

 

Legolas took a shaky breath, and curled his fingers into fists at his sides as if to grab onto the last dying ember of his family.  The tree by which his life was supported was splintering, for Thranduil held up most of its trunk. It had never occurred to Legolas that such a thing was possible, that Thranduil, who had endured many ages, might _cease_ to be.  Though he had lost his mother, his father seemed an indelible figure, one who would last as long as Middle Earth did. 

 

Fear fractured his heart, allowing darkness to slip inside. What a fool he was, to live with such optimism, to think that his darkest days were behind him, that the loss of his mother to the evil forces of this world would have exempted him from further sacrifice. 

 

_No, I will not think it,_ Legolas chastised himself.   _My father is not forfeit, not yet._ This circumstance was damnable and making him do and think things he would never have done otherwise. The realization of how much his father meant to him bowed his head. A blush of shame crept up his ears as he wondered if he ever would have realized the extent of it had Thranduil not been placed in jeopardy.  

 

_When this is over, we shall have a talk,_ Legolas thought, trying to reach for hopefulness once more. 

 

Legolas joined the other elves who were scouting for places to bed down when there was a noise of rustling leaves and twigs snapping, and little gasps and sniffing-- crying. Something was coming and it was no forest creature. 

 

Tauriel looked up at the noise, her keen eyes peering into the dark forest.

 

"What is it?" Legolas asked her.

 

"Someone's on the road," she replied taking a few steps forward, and then she threw a surprised glance over her shoulder at Legolas and said, "It's a human child."

 

A young girl was wrapped in a cloak and her face was streaked with dirt and tear tracks as she stood in muddied boots on the dirt road. Her black hair was done up in a thick braid, which had twigs and leaves caught in it. She clutched a lantern in her hands, a single candle flickering softly in the glass case.   From the condition of her clothes, it was plain she had been traveling on foot for some time. She cast her exhausted, watery eyes upon the elves and gasped, startled.

 

She took a few steps backward in alarm, surprised at seeing anyone this time of night, but then she stopped, canting her head as she peered at them. 

 

"You are elves," she said.  "Have I truly found you? Are you from the Woodland Realm? I am trying to find my way there, but I am lost and it is a lot farther than it looked on the map."

 

"We are elves from the Woodland Realm," Tauriel answered her.  "What business have you there, child?"

 

The girl looked overwhelmed for a minute as her eyes darted from Tauriel to Legolas. She frowned when she looked at the prince and tilted her head to the side as she considered him.

 

"You look like him," she said suddenly, "like the Elvenking."

 

"What do you know of the Elvenking?" Legolas asked her, taking a few steps towards the girl.

 

"I'm only supposed to talk to his son," she said, looking at once nervous and determined.  "Are you him?"

 

"I am," he said.  "I am Legolas Thranduilion."

 

"Mama said your father was a good elf,” the girl said. “Are you a good elf, too?"

 

"I try to be," he answered.  Legolas knelt on the the ground before her, and he looked up into her face. "What is your name?" he asked.

 

"Rona," she said.  

 

"You have seen my father, Rona?" Legolas asked her.  

 

She nodded as she took tentative steps towards him, and then with the boldness of a child she reached out with her little hands to touch his hair.  "You have hair just like him," she said with a small smile.  

 

"He is alive then?" Legolas asked studying her face, silently pleading to the Valar that it was so. 

 

"Yes, but he was hurt," she replied.  "Right here," and she reached around to touch the back of her own head. "Mama fixed him.  He talked with my grandpa and said to give you this." The girl reached around her neck and pulled a silver chain over her head, and at the end dangled one of Thranduil's rings.  

 

"Grandpa was supposed to bring this to you, but-- but he died," she said.  "So I had to go."

 

Legolas took the ring from her and felt emotion prick at his eyes.  This was Oropher's ring and it meant a great deal to his father.  Thranduil had once told Legolas that if he should die or sail for Valinor, that he intended Legolas to have this ring, that it was the only personal affect of Oropher's that he had. Such talk of death and sailing had scared Legolas, who had not quite reached maturity then, and he had never forgotten the rare beseeching in his father’s eyes. 

 

This ring, which had been passed down from father to son for generations-- Thranduil would not part with it, nor give it away lightly.  That this human child had it certainly meant that Thranduil was in serious peril.  

 

Legolas took the ring from the chain, slipping it on the ring finger of his left hand, and put the necklace back around Rona's neck.

 

"You'll help us now?" she asked.  "The Elvenking said you would come with your army." She peered around Legolas at the other elves behind him, not more than twenty Woodland Realm soldiers.  "Your army is smaller than I thought,” she said with dismay.

 

Legolas breathed a little laugh and said, "No, this is not our army.  We are a small number, searching for the king and the men who took him."

 

"They have him locked up," Rona said.  "Locked up in that crumbling old keep."

 

"Rona, can you lead us there?" Tauriel asked her.

 

The girl hesitated.  "You're supposed to bring your army," she insisted.  "You’re supposed to free the town."

 

"We will send for the army if we are not enough," Legolas assured her.  "You have my word as prince of the Woodland Realm."

 

Holding up her lantern, Rona searched his eyes for any hint of deceit. When she was satisfied that spoke only the truth, she set her lantern down on the ground and unrolled her grandfather’s leather map beside it.  “This is the keep,” she said, tapping to the spot.  "But I am not sure where we are." 

 

It took a minute of calculations, but Legolas determined from the map and the landmarks they had already passed that they were less than a day's journey from the sea port.  It was closer than he could have hoped. 

 

For the first time since this nightmare began, feelings of hope began to take root.  Legolas asked her about the men who'd taken his father, and Rona told them of Morfindien, and the more she spoke of him and what he had done to her village, the more repulsed they were. 

 

"He must have gone mad," Tauriel said. 

 

"No, he is wicked," Legolas remarked.  "And we should make no excuses for him." 

 

"Morfindien was the first elf I'd ever seen," Rona said. "He came to our sea port and wreaked havoc worse than a hurricane.  I thought all elves were bad like him, but you aren't." Rona looking around at the group, and said, "You elves are kind."

 

Tauriel smiled down at the child and asked her,  "Rona, will you tell us about the keep?"

 

"I used to play there before he came, even though I wasn't supposed to," she said. "It’s falling apart. The whole thing could fall down at any time.  There are walls and floors missing, even the roof in some places. When the tide is in you can swim right up these steps and be halfway into the castle. Mama says it just needs a good push, and it would go to rest in the sea.  I know the bad men don't like it there. They set up shanty shacks on the beach ever since one of them fell through rotted floorboards and died."

 

"That might be a way in," Legolas said.  "If we can keep them looking away from the shore, then we might be able to sneak by as the water rises."

 

"You don't have to worry, Mama had it all figured out," Rona continued.  "I heard her talking with the townsfolk before grandpa's funeral.  She was going to try to sneak out after the service and find you, but I knew I'd have a better chance because I’m little and nobody ever thinks of me. They’d have noticed if Mama went missing-- she’s the doctor now that Pa’s gone.  They'd probably have caught her and killed her, too.” She went quiet for a minute, no doubt thinking about her father and grandfather.  “Anyway, she said when she returned with the army that she'd create a diversion that would get the men to leave the keep and that's when the townspeople should act.”

 

This little girl had a lot of gumption. She was only a small thing, and yet she'd had the courage to try to save her people, despite how treacherous the circumstances were. 

 

A thought occurred to him, and Legolas crouched down to Rona's eye level. “Rona, does your mother know where you’ve gone?” Legolas asked her.

 

The child shrunk in her perch and said, “No.”

 

Legolas couldn't help but smile, remembering a time when he thought riding to Dol Guldor was a good idea, and the ensuing trauma he'd caused his father. He had no such excuse of being young and unknowledgable of the ways of the world as Rona did.  

 

“She must be very worried about you,” Legolas said.

 

“She wouldn't have let me!” Rona wailed.  “I did not mean to make her worried. I just wanted to help.”

 

Legolas grinned at her.  “I know I’ve done the same thing to my father many times,” Legolas said. “Never on purpose.”

 

“Did he forgive you?” she asked earnestly.

 

Legolas nodded.  “Always.”

 

The child gave a small smile, heartened by his words.  

 

It was well into the night by now and Rona was trembling from the cold and exhausted by her travels.  She turned towards Tauriel, who put her arms around the small child.  The elves gave her food and drink, and Tauriel let her curl up in her cloak to sleep as they planned their next move.

 

Though their numbers were small already, Legolas sent two riders back to the stronghold to bring reinforcements.  Now that he had a clear sense of where they were headed, Woodland soldiers would catch up to them using the waterways.  It would still take several days for the riders to reach the Greenwood and several more days beyond that for the reinforcements to make their way here.  Legolas did not think he could wait that long.  He did not think Thranduil could wait that long.  Their small group would rest tonight and take the keep tomorrow. If they failed, he knew their army would arrive eventually to avenge them all. 

 

 

*****

 

At some point in the night, Thranduil had lost consciousness, his exhaustion overcoming him. When he woke, midday sunlight caressed his skin, warming him where he lay on the weathered floor. He'd slept beside the obelisk and his body ached from the unforgiving stone. 

 

Wincing through clenched teeth, Thranduil sat up slowly, and knew that he would not be able to rouse the energy to stand.  It was best he save his strength for later when he was sure he would need it.  As he gazed around the room, he noticed that Morfindien was not there. Sighing heavily, Thranduil's heart was sick by the thought of him.  Though he only had a working theory, the more Thranduil thought on the pieces of information both Halvard and Morfindien himself had let slip, the more he felt he understood the full horror of what had been done to Morfindien. 

 

There were tales of old, whispered in the dark to inspire shock and horror, or spoken solemnly behind closed doors, tales that never needed to be told more than once to an elf in their long lifespan, so heinous and shocking, that many believed them to be untrue.  

 

It was said that the first orcs that ever came into being had been derived from elves, that these elves had been mutilated and tortured until all that remained were soulless, foul creatures.

 

Like an elf of old, Morfindien had been changed by his grievous torment, though his transformation was incomplete. On the crossroads of metamorphosis Morfindien was pinned, stuck in this abominable limbo between elf and orc.  He had escaped his tormentors before making the full transition, yet had somehow not died or faded from this world. Morfindien had survived, his will too great to let go.

 

The greatest tragedy of Morfindien's tale was not that he had been tortured, but that when he needed the compassion of his fellow elves, he had been rejected with dread and revulsion, and in turn had become the monster they'd so feared. If Morfindien had been accepted with love and understanding when he'd first escaped, would his fate be different now? Would the orc part of him have died while his elven soul had lived?  

 

But there was no use in what ifs. Morfindien's elven soul was all but dead, even he knew it was so--   _I am too far gone,_ he had said. _These moments come so briefly now._ Those words had been the last vestige of his elven self trying to warn Thranduil of the evil he'd become. 

 

Thranduil thought he understood why he'd truly been taken here-- to fullfill Morfindien’s subconscious desire and absolve his soul before the orc in him took over.  

 

Once he had that ring in his hand, he surely would be lost, making his transformation complete. Morfindien was one of the most dangerous creatures in Middle Earth. Did he not realize that he was a pawn for the minions of the dark lord Sauron? That the moment he had his hands on a ring, malevolent forces would take it from him?

 

Nothing else made sense.  Why else would the Elvenking be chosen to translate dwarven runes?   Perhaps Morfindien felt a king was sovereign, or perhaps he wanted the acceptance he never got from his people before he ceased to be. Thranduil thought, _If he has the king's absolution, then he has the people's as well._

 

It may be too late to save Morfindien, but perhaps not too late to grant him the peace he needed. 

 

Thranduil laid a hand upon the obelisk, using his fingers to trace along the runes at the bottom. Suddenly, there was a dull ache radiating through his fingers and then up along his arm. A flash of sharp biting pain shot through him, his vision flooding with white, and the cries of dwarves and the laughter of one rang in his ears. 

 

Thranduil wrenched his hand back as if burned, clutching it to his chest. He looked up at the black stone monument, his mind reeling. 

 

_Something is_ inside _this obelisk,_ Thranduil thought.

 

A terrible notion struck him, and suddenly Thranduil finally understood. He scuttled backward quickly, his eyes wide with horror.  As realization came fully to him, he shook with fright. 

 

"It's a ruse," he whispered. "The translation doesn't matter at all."

 

Thranduil did not have to break the cipher to know that Morfindien had been right. Not all of the rings presumed destroyed had been.

 

The ring of power Morfindien so desired was _inside_ the stone. Thranduil was sure of it now.

 

In the days he'd been here, Thranduil had felt affected by the obelisk, and Morfindien certainly was for he'd formed an unhealthy attachment to it. Even Halvard with his dull human senses had known enough to stay away from the obelisk.  Thranduil moved as far back as he could, attempting to widen the distance between himself and the ring. The exertion exhausted him and he laid back on the floor to stop the room from spinning.

 

Thranduil closed his eyes, seeking to banish fear from his heart, and thought of his home, of clear air and bright sunshine dappled through the leaves of the great trees, of how the Greenwood used to thrive before darkness began encroaching on his beloved forest.  His thoughts turned to his son and he chased the feeling of lightness and joy that Legolas conjured in his mind. 

 

The next thing he knew, he was being jostled awake. "Oh, now this won't do," Harvard said. He slid his hands under Thranduil's shoulders and helped him to sit up. "Up you get," he said. 

 

Thranduil blinked up at him through exhausted eyes. Halvard looked in rough shape, too. Over the eye that Morfindien had savaged, he wore a black patch, which added to the roguishness of his appearance. 

 

"You don't look so good, Elvenking," Halvard said, squinting at his face.  "Drink this," he said, holding out a canteen.  "It's just water." 

 

The water was cool and it helped to clear some of the fog from his mind. Thranduil drank all that there was before replying, "You don't look so good yourself." 

 

Halvard let out a crusty laugh as he took the canteen from him. "You mustn't be in too bad a way if you can crack wise! I dunno, I think the eyepatch is an improvement to my image." 

 

"Why do you take such abuse from him?" Thranduil asked.  "You could leave and spare yourself the grief."

 

"What can I say? My life is short and then it’s done," Halvard said. "I do not get to live forever like you do. I suffered the first half of my life, hungry and begging, and by hell or high water, I’m going to enjoy my last half as I see fit. Sure it comes with a bit of a price, but Morfindien pays in gold! More gold than I thought I'd ever rightly see." 

 

“Power and gold,” Thranduil said.  “The motivation of many a fool.”

 

Halvard shrugged.  "I know I'm not a smart man, but even I can see it's time to retire after this."

 

"Halvard, there won't be an _after_ if Morfindien gets his way," Thranduil said. "You must help me," he implored.  

 

"Now you know I can't free you," he replied, but even as he said these words, Thranduil shook his head.

 

"The obelisk--, " he said with a gesture to it.  "Would you agree it affects Morfindien poorly?" he asked. 

 

"Well, yes, I suppose so," Halvard answered.  "He's obsessed with the damn thing. I think it's made him a bit meaner, you know? Never had to do so much killing until after he took it." 

 

"You must help me destroy it," Thranduil implored.  "Or it will destroy your master and all your hopes along with it." 

 

"Is that what it says?" Halvard asked, looking up at the stone in alarm. 

 

"It matters not what it says," Thranduil replied.  "All that matters is getting rid of it."

 

With a clatter, the door swung open and Morfindien swept through. Displeasure burned in his eyes and Thranduil knew his time was up. Morfindien would make good on his threat now. 

 

He stalked around Thranduil in a wide berth, taking in Thranduil’s weary perch on the floor.  Thranduil could barely lift the chains around his wrists and his arms throbbed in steady agony from the unrelenting strain of his bonds.

 

“What a pathetic figure you cut, Thranduil,” he said. “It is a good thing your suffering will be ended tonight, one way or another.”

 

Halvard fidgeted uneasily behind him. Conscience had come too late to the man. He did not want Thranduil killed, but he would not make a move against Morfindien either.

 

“I ask you, Elvenking, one last time,” Morfindien said.  “What do these runes say? How do I find my precious ring of power?”

 

“I have already given you my council,” Thranduil said.  “I have nothing more to offer you.” 

 

Morfindien stalked towards him, a swirl of dark robes, then came to a sudden halt before Thranduil, his anger apparent in every line of his body. 

 

“I think I know a way to free you from your stubbornness,” Morfindien said.  “Do you suppose _he_ is ready?” Morfindien asked Thranduil, his lips quirking with the hint of a wicked smile. 

 

Thranduil remained silent, though his heart beat suddenly faster.

 

“Your son, King Thranduil,” the dark elf said.  “What would happen, do you think, when he arrives here and finds you dead? Do you think your son would act with a rational mind or an emotional one?”

 

Thranduil schooled his features to mask his surprise, but Morfindien cackled anyway.  

 

"Are you astonished that I know he is coming here? Was there even the slightest chance that your Woodland elves are not tracking you as we speak?  That they are not being led here by the prince himself?" Morfindien asked.  "Of course they are.  What a poor people indeed if they just let their king be taken, and what little love the son would have for the father, if he did not lead the charge himself."

 

Thranduil said nothing, but he felt his face grow hot, a blush that crept up to his ears, at the threat to his son.

 

"There is only one narrow road left that leads up to the keep.  There is no way possible that your elves can sneak upon this fortress. We will see them before they can lift an arrow from their quivers. They will have come all this way to die here, alone and away from the forest they love so well."

 

He crouched in front of Thranduil, delighted by his misery.  "What price would you pay for the life of your son? Do you love him more than you fear another ring of power in the world?  He will receive no mercy from me when he arrives. I have no use for him if you are dead. You can expect he would suffer the same fate as your elves slain upon the road."

 

Rage rushed through Thranduil, giving sharp focus to his tired mind.  Thranduil had no doubt that Morfindien would try to kill his son, but Thranduil had to trust that Legolas would not fall. His son had grown to become an exceptional soldier, as well as a lovely and caring elf that he could not be prouder of.  Thranduil had to hope that Rona had found Legolas and had been able to warn him of what lay ahead.  Thranduil loved his son more than life itself, but he could not let a ring of power fall into this mad elf's grasp. What Sauron's forces could do with such a minion as Morfindien-- Thranduil knew he would unleash a greater evil upon the world, and that would be no place for Legolas and his people to inherit.

 

"You know this dream is madness, that you will not succeed," Thranduil said.  "You crouch before me asking for a ring, but that is not what you truly desire of me."

 

Morfindien stood up and snarled, "What is it _you think_ I desire?"

 

"Absolution," Thranduil said and slowly he came to his feet, rising with whatever grace and nobility he still possessed. "You showed your true face to me and I saw it plainly in the green of your natural eyes-- you want acceptance by your kin before this darkness in you consumes you wholly. You want your fea to enter the Halls of Mandos with a chance to be rebodied rather than to be doomed to vanish from the world into nothing when you die. How better to get the acceptance and absolution you crave than from the blessing of a king of those who have wronged you?"

 

Morfindien laughed at him, but he was uneasy. Thranduil's words were true even though he pretended they were not. 

 

"The ring is lost to you," Thranduil said, gesturing to the obelisk.  "There is no other path to becoming whole than the one I set before you.  Destroy the obelisk-- let it fall into the sea, and come back with me to the Greenwood." 

 

"Destroy it?" he barked, aghast by the suggestion.  "Destroy what is precious to me? What purpose is there in letting it fall into the sea?" Morfindien's eyes narrowed and he asked, "You did not say that before... What have you learned?"

 

Thranduil had not been certain until this moment that Morfindien knew the obelisk was not a map, but a vault for the ring itself. The way this mad elf worshiped the stone and seemed to believe with utter blind faith that it was the key to gleaning a ring of power gave away his suspicions.  Thranduil would see the obelisk become a tomb for such a relic.

 

"I only _suspected_ ," Morfindien continued. "But you _know_ it.  Your keen elven senses are more finely tuned than mine, so sensitive I bet you feel the ache of the leaves changing in your forest and the cold of winter when it blankets the wood in snow.  While I can only suspect-- you _know_ \-- It _is_ in here, isn't it?"

 

"What is?" Halvard asked.  "In where?"

 

"The ring," Morfindien said his voice rising. "Is that what it says?" He asked gesturing to the stone.

 

The elf Thranduil had once glimpsed, whose green eyes had pleaded for help, was lost. There would be no reasoning with him for the creature that stood before him now had the sensibility of an orc, and lust for the ring was all that shone in his eyes. 

 

"It doesn't matter-- it's as good as dwarven gibberish," Thranduil said. "They are most likely runes designed to keep the stone sealed for all time. You will never have the ring. It was lost to you before you ever discovered it." 

 

"But it _is_ inside the obelisk? _Isn't it?_ " Morfindien demanded. "Tell me how to open it."

 

"Open it?" Halvard asked.  "Open what? That thing? It's solid stone! We dropped it dozens of times on the journey here and it didn’t so much as chip. It definitely don't open."

 

"Silence, you _fool_ ," Morfindien screamed at Halvard.  He rounded on Thranduil and said, "Tell me what the inscription says. How do I open it?"

 

"Halvard is right. It does not open," Thranduil said.  "This obelisk is a tomb meant to be sealed for all time. Dwarven seals cannot be forced open."

 

"You _will_ open it," Morfindien insisted, drawing his sword from the sheath at his side.

 

Thranduil stared at him and shook his head.  "No. I will not help you destroy this world." And then Thranduil smiled because no matter what was done to him, Morfindien would know that he had come _this close_ to realizing his insane dream only to have it denied him. It was not much justice for his slain people, but it was some.

 

"When your son arrives, I will make him suffer," Morfindien snarled. "He will suffer grievously and then he will die, and your great line will be extinguished."

 

"No.  Whatever my fate may be, my son will live,” Thranduil remarked, an edge returning to his voice. “He is a fine and capable elf, a thousand times a thousand your worth. He is a light that shines in this darkening world. And you cannot touch him."

 

Morfindien let out a frustrated howl, raising his sword high and swung it down upon Thranduil. The Elvenking darted back, barely getting out from underneath Morfindien's rage. He was exhausted and weary, but Thranduil had not survived the centuries for nothing and he pulled strength from an inner reserve.

 

The mad elf swung at him again and Thranduil pulled the chain taut between his shackles to block the blow. Morfindien drew back to strike at him as Thranduil swing the chain like a whip, his only defense against this deranged elf. 

 

Morfindien blocked the blow with his metal arm, the chain wrapping around, and he pulled, jerking Thranduil towards him.  Thrown sharply off balance by the weight, he could not avoid Morfindien’s hand as it fixed around his neck.

 

"You will open it!" He snarled, lifting Thranduil by the throat, and shoving him back against the obelisk with a violent thrust. Thranduil bit back a cry as his injured skull smashed against the stone.

 

"Morfindien!" Halvard said sharply. "He can't tell you what you want to know if you bash his brains in." Halvard risked coming nearer, laying a hand on the mad elf’s shoulder. 

 

Morfindien released him and Thranduil slid down the obelisk to the floor, leaving a spot of blood where his head met the stone.  The gash that Katrien had sewed shut had reopened.  Thranduil was dizzy and the world was growing darker. _Get up_ , he thought.   _Stay awake_. 

 

"Enough of this," Morfindien snapped.  "I want this one to _suffer_ ," he growled, his golden eyes feral.

 

And Thranduil was pulled to his feet too quickly, the world going dark around the edges of his vision.  His consciousness wavered as he was manhandled down a crumbling set of steps, and thrust into a cell in the lowest level.  There were iron bars like a cage around him. The walls were damp and there were barnacles growing in places along the ceiling.

 

With a final _click-clack,_ Morfindien fastened his chain to a large iron loop inset into the wall.  “Come, Halvard,” he said.  “We will listen closely, for soon you shall hear a king _beg_.”

 

Halvard was crouched at his left and whispered, "Listen, just help him get the blasted thing open," he whispered.  "Don't you understand?  This is the end for you otherwise."

 

"Better my end than the end for us all," Thranduil replied.

 

Halvard stood, following Morfindien out. "You best reconcile with your gods,” he said and closed the iron barred door with a click of the lock.

 

"And thus the life of the great Elvenking was ended," Morfindien taunted.  "Not with glory but with a strangled whimper." 

 

Thranduil watched as Halvard and Morfindien ascended the stairs and tried not to let his heart fill with despair.

 

*****

 

Rona rode with Tauriel, sitting between her arms as she trot her horse after Legolas.  The prince was very eager to reach the keep where his father was being held.  It turned out that they were very close to the sea port and by the afternoon they could see the town.

 

“We can’t let ourselves be seen,” Legolas said.  "Stealth is our key advantage. We do not know of their forces, or what they are capable of." 

 

Rona led them on foot around the rocky cliff face towards the water.  Legolas looked up at the decaying castle wondering where his father was being held. 

 

As if knowing where his thoughts were focused, Rona tugged on his sleeve and said, "I last saw your father in Morfindien's throne room," and she pointed as she said, "at the top."

 

_I'm coming adar,_ Legolas thought. _Hold on._

 

When the day had completely given way to night, the elves made their move, crouching along the shoreline where the rocky cliff face was the steepest, climbing down the path without making a sound.

 

Rona guided them, showing the group how they might sneak upon the keep undetected. There was a cave passage that filled with water during high tide, but it was a shortcut that led from the forest shoreline and deposited out by the beach at the base of the keep.  If they moved quickly they could clear it before the tide made it impossible to navigate. Legolas led them through the pitch black passage, wading through the frigid, waist-deep water without hesitation. Tauriel carried Rona on her shoulders and the little girl clung fast to her. 

 

"There are large rocks on the beach," Rona whispered, her voice resounding off the walls of the passage. "We might hide behind them when we come out," she said. 

 

It was pitch black and the sound of the water moving around them echoed loudly, but soon Legolas felt the breeze kiss his face, the passage breathing open again, and the stars were once more visible in the sky. 

 

Their biggest risk of being seen was in this moment, but the Valar had blessed them for none of the men stationed on the beach turned as the elves stole from the cave to the rocky shore.  The men were milling about their makeshift homes and keeping their eyes on the one road that led from the keep to the town.  

 

“Rona, thank you for leading us here,” Legolas said to her, looking up at the little girl perched on Tauriel’s shoulders.  “But you must return to your mother now.”

 

“But I want to help,” Rona protested. 

 

“You already have,” Legolas said.  “It is not safe for you here. I would see you returned to your mother in one piece.” He stretched his arms up towards her and the child let him lift her from Tauriel's shoulders, and set her down on the sandy beach. She folded her arms and looked peeved that her adventure was ending. 

 

"I will return Rona to her mother, if you wish it," Tauriel volunteered. "And come back as soon as possible."

 

"Is that amenable to you?" Legolas asked Rona. 

 

"Yes," Rona said taking Tauriel's hand as she smiled up at the elleth. The little girl had taken quite a liking to Tauriel. 

 

"You must be swift and stealth--." Legolas's words were lost.  Suddenly there was a hissing, and then a pop and an enormous blaze shot up in the darkness.  Tauriel pulled Rona towards her as the sky lit up, and Legolas stood in front of them, ushering them back with his arms behind him. 

 

The elves hunkered behind the rocks, peering cautiously around the edges.  Legolas looked down the sand toward the outlaw shanties and saw that they were on fire.  The crudely built shacks went up in moments and soon men were running out of the keep and from the town towards their makeshift homes.

 

"Tauriel, get Rona to her mother," Legolas said and gestured to the rest of the elves to follow him. 

 

The fire was the distraction the elves needed.  Legolas led them around the base of the keep, ducking into shadow as men continued to pass, frantic to put out the flames.

 

The prince found a foothold and began to climb the crumbling base. As Legolas clambered up the facade towards the exposed brick, he felt oil sick his palms, making his grasp slippery and perilous, and then one of the outlaws screamed, “The keep is on fire!” and he looked below him to see the wind had blown a charred piece of roofing towards the castle and it was enough to ignite the oil that had been painted along the walls.

 

Legolas's stomach lurched. The keep had been primed with grease to insure that this was its last night standing. The fire rose quickly, devouring the old structure like a starved creature. Legolas felt it hot at his heels as he climbed up the scaffolding.

 

_There is still time to find my father_ , he reasoned. There had to be.

 

"Round up the outlaws that try to flee, and keep the fire contained. Do not let it spread to the seaport," Legolas called to his soldiers. "I am going to get the king out."

 

 

*****

 

Thranduil leaned against the wall with his eyes closed.  Night had fallen and though the moon shone like a white beacon over the sea, he found he could not watch it.  The sea water had risen up to his chest now, the tide coming in through the holes and cracks in the keep quicker and quicker as the moon rose in its ascent of the sky.

 

In a final effort to free himself, Thranduil had jerked and riled against the iron loop that his chain was locked to, thinking that perhaps he could wrench it free from the mortar and then find a way out of the cage, but it would not budge, and he had come finally to accept that he would drown as the tide rolled in.  It seemed that the sea level had risen in the centuries that the keep had been built and with no one left to tend to the keep, the sea had risen up to claim it.

 

He focused on keeping his breathing even and tried very hard not to panic. He would face death calmly and head on.  Thranduil had been left to die slowly as had once been Morfindien’s own fate.   

 

The water was cold and black, with nothing but moonlight dancing over it, the tide cruelly sweeping back and then rushing in again even higher.

 

He was succumbing, to the cold, to the injuries he’d sustained, to the fatigue of being captive, he felt his body failing him, both angry and disbelieving that the reserve of strength that had always served him had run dry.

 

Thranduil kept his eyes closed and thought of Legolas, his light in the shadow.  What unending joy he had brought to his life.  How this would hurt him. Thranduil regretted that he could not spare Legolas this pain. But he could be proud of his son, who was a finer elf than he ever had been.  He knew his son, and he knew that Legolas was somewhere on the trail looking for him, and if he concentrated very hard he could feel his searching heart.  Thranduil prayed that Legolas would be spared in finding his body, that Valar would grant him that kindness at least.

 

_Ion-nin,_ he thought.   _Gi melin, ion-nin._

 

As the water rose, Thranduil fell into a trance, his breath slowing, the physical world falling away, as he focused on those he loved.

 

_To be Continued..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been told by those that know that "Gi melin" is a familiar way of saying, "I love you" in elvish. 
> 
> Thank for being patient! This chapter has a lot in it, and I truly hope you liked it. **I would love to hear your thoughts, questions or concerns in the comments!** The next chapter will be a lot short, and hopefully less tricky to write. Thank you! 
> 
> I post Thranduil and Legolas art on my [art blog](http://griseldajane.tumblr.com) and post Thranduil and Legolas related media on my [Mirkwood Family blog](http://mirkwoodfamily.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Feel free to join me at either location!


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt: _"I promised your father that you would suffer, and I think my promise is kept," Morfindien said with a gleeful laugh._

**SINGULAR FOCUS**

**** Chapter** **Five ****

 

 

Thick smoke billowed up from the fire below, making the wind warm and filled with soot. Legolas squinted up at the tower, his gaze wavering only to turn his face into his shoulder to avoid breathing in the fumes as he climbed. He eyed the ledge overhead. If he made it up that far, he could climb over the wall and be on the stairs, closer than ever to finding his father. 

 

A wall of heat rose as the flames below lashed at his heels, hot air beneath him, cold air above. Legolas dared not look behind him. Upwards was the only viable direction.His hands and clothing were laced with the oil that had coated the base of the tower. He had to reach his target before the flames scurried along the slick trail left in his wake. 

 

Smoke plumed up with a gust of wind, the black breeze choking him and bringing water to his eyes, but Legolas pressed on, his thoughts racing. _Though the keep is old, its structure is damp which may delay its falling for a time. But for the oil, it may have lasted,_ he thought, and then suddenly it came to him. _A sabotage! Is_ this _the diversion Rona had spoken about?_ Anger churned in his stomach. _This is no diversion. Rona’s mother meant to destroy the keep no matter who was still inside it!_  

 

Though he could hardly see what was going on around him, Legolas heard the men shouting in panic, the crash of the waves against the shore below, and the crackle of the fire as it devoured the aging tower.

 

As he reached for his next handhold, the keep shifted violently, throwing men from the tall tower.Legolas clung to the structure, his heart pounding as the screams of men hurtling to their deaths cut through the night. The fire had nearly eaten through a newly forged support column and the building sagged towards the sea like an old man with weak knees. But the prince pressed on, knowing he could not falter or his father would be lost. 

 

At last the ledge was within Legolas’s reach. He pulled himself up onto the lip and rolled over, landing in a silent perch on a low platform. Men rushed past him without giving him a second glance. The soldiers for hire had no loyalty to Morfindien other than what the elf could buy. There was not enough gold in the world for these men to risk the agony of burning to death.

 

Legolas chanced a look out over the edge. From this height he could see that beyond the burning shanty shacks the townspeople had gathered on the beach to watch their oppressors burn. 

 

Legolas now knew with certainty that the villagers of Fishhead had banded together to set the keep on fire, no doubt led by Rona’s mother. Torches danced brightly in the night, and he caught a glimpse of Tauriel's red hair shining in that fiery light as she delivered Rona into the arms of her mother. Tauriel stood for a moment watching mother and daughter reunite, before turning and dashing back towards the castle. The woman fell to her knees and pulled her daughter towards her with such desperation that Legolas did not think she would ever release her again. 

 

A pang twisted in his stomach, and he thought of Thranduil, wanting to pull his father towards him with the same desperation. 

 

He spun from the ledge and took running strides up the steps.The men that still remained were trying to save the keep only to facilitate their own escape, and none of them made to stop him as he sprinted past. Legolas leaped over missing sections of floor and climbed the walls in places where the stairs had crumbled.Rona said his father had been seen in the throne room at the top and he would start there.  

 

He was so close, but his heart was anguished and burned as it had not before. Worry threatened to choke him like the smoke from the fire.Dashing through a small antechamber and then into a hallway, Legolas heard a raised voice. 

 

Following the angry sound, he slowed as he came upon an open door and heard a voice shout, "We have to _break_ it open."  

 

Legolas listened intently to the voices inside, chancing a peek through the threshold. In the large room an obelisk made of shining, black obsidian loomed at its center.A dark haired elf walked circles around it, his golden eyes ablaze with madness as he stared up at it. _It must be Morfindien,_ Legolas thought, his eyes narrowing. 

 

" _Quickly_ Halvard," Morfindien snarled at a man with an eye patch. 

 

"Don’t you remember how many times we dropped this blasted thing getting it up here?" Halvard asked."We can't break it open! It's impenetrable. It won't break."

 

"You _will_ help me do this, Halvard," Morfindien screeched, and he swung his sword at the stone monument. It clanged and clattered, making no dent. 

 

Halvard stood watching dumbly as the elf swung and hit the obelisk to no avail. Legolas knew nothing about the monument, but from its design he surmised it was dwarven, and if it was anything like dwarven doors, then no force in Middle Earth would open it. 

 

"This is crazy, Morfindien! The keep is on fire we have to go _right now_ or we’ll miss our chance," Halvard pleaded.

 

The elf swung his sword again and again, trying desperately to fracture the stone, to no avail.He let his sword fall to the floor and he knelt in front of the obelisk, breathing hard as he touched the inscriptions with his one hand. 

 

"It was perfect," Morfindien whispered, "the world I could have made here."

 

"You can make your world some place else," Halvard said."There's no reason why we can't leave here right now."

 

"Without the ring? No, I haven't the strength to start over without it,” Morfindien hissed.He looked up at the commander. “Halvard, there is very little in this world I care about," Morfindien said."And while I can't say I care for you, you have always served me well.I give you your leave to go."

 

Halvard opened his mouth to argue, but before he could speak the building leaned hard to the left, sending the man stumbling. 

 

There was no time left.Legolas stepped into the room, notching his arrow along his bowstring and pointed it at Morfindien. “Where is King Thranduil?” he asked.

 

The commander's head whipped around, his eyes comically round. "Who the blazes are you?"

 

The dark elf stared at him in surprise for a moment before his eyes softened with understanding. " _Ah_. At least there is one satisfaction that has risen from my failure," Morfindien said, a look of delight on his face."Too late to be of any use, but here you are at last.Halvard, meet the Prince of the Woodland Realm."

 

“His son!” Halvard gasped, his eyes becoming round and troubled.“I thought it was a bluff, all that stuff you said! I didn't think his son would really be here and have to... see.”

 

The building shook again and the heat from the flames began to reach them. Legolas glared at them, eyes ablaze. “You will tell me where King Thranduil is now,” he demanded.

 

"Your father would not cooperate and was condemned to the dungeons," Morfindien replied.

 

The keep lurched then as an integral support was eaten by fire.Morfindien braced himself against the obelisk, the commander fell over, and Legolas dropped to a crouch.

 

When the building stuttered to a stop in a lurch, Morfindien smiled at him and said, “I had thought to kill you when you arrived, but I think _this_ is so much more satisfying.Yes, it will be a pleasure."

 

His words stirred anger and fear together, causing nausea to rise in Legolas's throat.

 

"Halvard, the prince wants to see his father," Morfindien said, his golden gaze boring into Legolas's eyes. "Give him the key.”

 

Legolas had not expected Morfindien to give up so easily and it made him uneasy.Why would he freely give what had been hard won?

 

The commander tossed the key to Legolas, his eyes glittering with guilt as he stared at him with a deep frown. Quickly transferring his arrow back into his quiver, Legolas plucked the key from the air with his free hand. 

 

"Go on down those steps," the elf directed with a nod."There's no one to stop you, _Thranduilion_ ," Morfindien said with a purr. 

 

Legolas gripped the key in his clenched fist and hurried towards the threshold, his terrified heart beating loudly in his ears.

 

" _Wait_ ," Halvard called, his voice urgent enough to pause Legolas in his tracks. "You'll need two keys to free him-- one for the cell and one for his chains." Halvard turned towards Morfindien and said, "Give him the key to the shackles." 

 

Morfindien's eyes blazed and he scowled furiously. " _No_ ," he said, enraged that Halvard had spoiled his fun. 

 

"It's not right," Halvard insisted."It's too cruel. A son shouldn't have to--," he halted, shaking his head."Morfindien, what use is it to hold onto the key _now_? Give it to him."

 

"If the Elvenprince wishes to free his father from bondage, then he will have to take the key from me," Morfindien said, reaching under his shirt collar to reveal that an iron key shaped in dwarven geometry hung from a chain around his neck. 

 

"Listen to me for once!" Halvard shouted. He went to Morfindien's side, red faced and serious, pleading with this employer to see reason. "Give him the cuff key!And let us leave this place right now." 

 

Tucking the key to Thranduil’s cell into a pocket, Legolas used this moment while Morfindien was distracted to steal closer to him, silently retrieving an arrow from his quiver, and aiming it at the crazed elf.

 

Morfindien chuckled, turning lazily to look at Halvard, his mirth belied by the edge of hostility in his voice."Do not be stupid, Halvard," he said."I dismissed you. Take your leave while you still may."

 

"That's right, you dismissed me," Halvard said. "I don't take orders from you no more.”

 

Morfindien’s eyes flashed at being disobeyed and Halvard shifted from foot to foot as he gathered his courage. “The things I’ve done--there's no taking them back," Halvard said, shaking his head, "and even if I could, I don't know if I would take them back... But this? This one just don't sit right with me." 

 

Morfindien laughed at him. "One act of benevolence will not save your blackened mortal soul.Assuage your guilt elsewhere."

 

"That Elevenking was right and I didn’t listen. No good will come of this. Maybe, just this once, I could do the honorable thing. Give the prince the key, and we'll leave together," Halvard replied.

 

Eyes gleaming with fiendish delight, Morfindien leaned towards Halvard and said, "Helping the Elvenprince now will not make up for the fact that you did not help his father when you had the chance."

 

Legolas could no longer stand this talk, and he sprang like a coiled snake, charging at Morfindien with his weapon at the ready. Jumping up, Legolas aimed an arrow at Morfindien's chest and let it fly. Though killing kin was a grievous offense among his people, Legolas would become a kinslayer if it meant that his father may live. 

 

In a blink, the mad elf pivoted bringing his sword up in a blur, deflecting Legolas's arrow as if batting away an irksome fly. 

 

Halvard darted back from them but shouted, "We haven't time for this!"  

 

As he landed, Legolas shot a quick succession of arrows, but Morfindien deflected each one.His cunning and accuracy with a blade was as good as Thranduil's was, who had the best reflexes Legolas had ever seen.

 

"As your father took _hope_ from me," Morfindien snarled. "So I shall take you from him." He ran at Legolas, his sword poised to strike. 

 

Legolas grit his teeth, a streak of fury running deep within him. The mad elf swung his sword at him, but Legolas danced back, only just avoiding each thrust.The sharp metal weapon hit the stone floor with a clang and sparks flew from the force of it alone. Scurrying back, Legolas notched arrow after arrow, letting them fly in rapid succession, and these too were each diverted. 

 

Morfindien had perfect reflexes and would deflect each shot he took until he was out of arrows. An ominous pall fell over Legolas and he felt something was very, very wrong. He needed that second key and he needed it _now_. 

 

Legolas threw down his bow and drew his blades, engaging Morfindien head on. The elf laughed as he charged, a jovial cackle of deranged pleasure, meeting Legolas's strikes blow for blow.This elf had nothing to lose, while the prince could lose everything he held dear. Though Morfindien had but one arm, Legolas knew not to underestimate him.Legolas had seen his father spar one handed, and once Thranduil had been blindfolded and still managed to waylay all of his challengers. Thranduil had taught Legolas well. 

 

The building swayed again and the floor started to separate, the old mortar that held the bricks crumbling under the stress. It was then that Legolas glimpsed his chance. As Morfindien missed his footing, Legolas lunged toward him, arm outstretched. His fingers clasped around the key at Morfindien's throat and pulled. 

 

Thrown off kilter, Morfindien swung his sword around, his blade cutting into Legolas's arm as he pulled away. 

 

As he collided with the floor, his arm stung with pain, and though he left a smear of red in his wake, Legolas smiled in triumph, clasping the key to his chest, the chain on which it had hung broken in two. 

 

Morfindien snarled, rising to his feet."It hardly matters," he snapped, looking down at Legolas, baring his sword. "You've left yourself open for nothing, and now I'll have the pleasure of ending your line."

 

Legolas wriggled back, attempting to regain his footing before Morfindien stuck him, but knowing the best he could hope for would be a little distance to lessen the wound. 

 

“Morfindien, stop!” Halvard shouted.As the elf raised his sword to run Legolas through, Halvard lunged at him, knocking Morfindien off his stance. On instinct Morfindien pivoted, thrusting his sword into Halvard instead, and the man crumpled with a sharp gasp. 

 

Shock painted the elf’s face. “ _Halvard_!” Morfindien screeched, "Now look what you’ve made me do!" But it was too late. The bodies of men were fragile, and the commander was dead by the time he hit the ground.

 

If this mad elf had any capacity left for affection, it had been for Halvard, who had been as constant a companion as he had ever had.Morfindien let out a shrill wail as he knelt over Halvard, whose red blood flowed in a gruesome stream across the old floor, pooling quietly around Morfindien's hand. 

 

Legolas did not know this man who had sacrificed his life for him, but he vowed that Halvard's first and last heroic action had not been in vain. Legolas was on his feet and running towards the stairs that led down to the dungeon. 

 

Morfindien's golden eyes narrowed with hatred as he looked up over Halvard's body at Legolas. propelled by rage and grief, he darted after the prince with his sword in hand.

 

He swung his sword and barely missed, Legolas's uncanny agility the only thing that saved him. 

 

But then like a ray of light through the darkest storm clouds, an arrow whisked through the air and Morfindien had to turn away from Legolas to deflect it. Tauriel stood in the doorway with smoke billowing behind her and soot on her face.  

 

How she had made it through the flames and up into the keep Legolas did not know, but his heart swelled at the sight of her. She would occupy Morfindien while he rescued his father. 

 

Tauriel drew an arrow from her quiver and screamed, "Go!" as she fired it at Morfindien.

 

Wasting no more time, Legolas dashed towards the stairway and then he heard Morfindien howling with laughter.As soon as Legolas looked down at the first set of steps, he saw the reason for his laughter. 

 

The stone steps wound down and down, and he could plainly see that they disappeared into the black water of a nighttime sea.Legolas sucked in a horrified gasp as he realized that when the tide had come in, it had submerged the dungeons in frigid seawater. 

 

Gaining the key had been necessary, he could not free his father from dwarven made bonds otherwise, but the time spent on acquiring it had allowed the dungeons to flood, ensuring that Thranduil would drown.  

 

" _No_ ," he whispered. 

 

Looking back at Morfindien with horror blanching his face, Legolas saw the elf grin. He shivered with pleasure at his fright, his lips slightly parted.Like an orc, Morfindien reveled in the grief and misery of others. 

 

"I promised your father that you would suffer, and I think my promise is kept," Morfindien said with a gleeful laugh. 

 

“What does that mean?” Tauriel asked, looking from Morfindien to Legolas’s scared face.“Legolas?”

 

“It means your king is _dead!_ ” Morfindien gloated.“You are too late!” he shouted and cackled with laughter. 

 

"No, it _cannot_ be too late," Legolas said, shaking his head in denial.

 

Rushing down the stone steps, Legolas’s heart thundered in his chest for he knew that the water had wholly submerged the cells. He grabbed a lantern off the wall and the rope that tied it there.He would need them both to guide him through the dark water.

 

The keep shifted and groaned again and bricks started to rain down on him as he ran.One clipped his shoulder, but it was a muffled hurt, his mind working slow, partially broken by the understanding of why he could not discern his father through their bond. 

 

Someone screamed his name and he spared a fleeting glance towards the sound, seeing Tauriel at the top step. Her red hair flew wildly behind her as she stood at the threshold yelling frantically at him.Morfindien took swing at her with his sword, and she was forced back from the ledge, but Legolas had not more than a second to afford her.

 

The steps were slick with the spray of the ocean and Legolas lost his balance as he came to the last tread, falling to his knees on the wet landing. Above the roaring in his ears, the wind carried a raucous laugh down to him, but he could not let it distract him. 

 

Legolas set the lantern down on the last step and tied a rope from the railing to his waist.The waves below him were opaque, the moon revealing nothing within its depths.

 

He could not dive into the water as he'd like to for there was no way to tell where the stairs were descended into the sea.He brought the lantern as close as he dared to the surface of the water, and took a deep breath before plunging in. The coldness of the water sent a shock through him, but he used the burn of it to hasten himself further along.

 

Feeling down the wall, Legolas used the bricks to guide him through the water, finding handholds along the timeworn blocks to pull him along deeper into the dungeon. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness he recognized iron bars ahead to his right and swam along the flooded corridor. 

 

Though it was dark, the moon shone brightly above and its light filtered through the murky depths allowing his sharp eyes to discern a form floating in the cage. Thranduil drifted inside, his hair fanned out eerily around him, his eyes lidded as if in deep sleep, his hands shackled in great iron cuffs in front of him that were then chained to the wall. 

 

His heart screamed, but Legolas did not cry out when he saw Thranduil locked in the cell. There was no time for that. Grasping the bars of the cage, he held himself still as he maneuvered the cell key into the hole. The lock turned and he pulled hard on the door, opening it wide. He swam into the cage, reaching for his father’s wrists where the cuffs kept him prisoner. 

 

Despite his determination to be calm, his hands shook, and Legolas fumbled with the key as he detected where the keyhole was located by probing the cuffs with his fingers. The shackles were expertly crafted by the dwarves, and when he found the keyhole the key fit smoothly inside it.They snapped open with a _clack_ , and Legolas ripped them free of his father, letting them sink to the floor.Once his father was freed, Legolas clutched Thranduil to his chest, and navigated them out of the cage, towards the dim light overhead. 

 

It was more difficult than he thought it would be, swimming towards an unsure surface with a dead weight in tow. He kept his eyes trained on the shimmering yellow light above him, the lantern he’d set on the steps. Legolas burst through the water's surface, gasping for breath, and pulled them both up with the rope, not knowing where the strength came from.  

 

The flames had grown, engulfing the castle on all sides, but Legolas had more pressing concerns now. He laid Thranduil flat on the landing, then rolled him onto his side, watching in horror as water leaked from his mouth.  

 

Thranduil was still. Suddenly, Legolas felt like an elfling, frightened and unsure as he stared down at his unmoving father. 

 

"No, my king," he whispered, pounding on Thranduil's back, trying to shake the water free. "Breathe," he commanded. "You must breathe!"

 

He pressed his ear to Thranduil’s chest, listening for a beating heart, but Legolas was shaking too much to tell, his own pulse thumping loudly in his ears.Though he was certain there was no breath coming from Thranduil. 

 

Morfindien's insane laughter echoed down to him but Legolas did not truly hear it, he did not hear anything or see anything other than his dear father lying lifeless before him. 

 

How long could Thranduil survive without air? Elves longer than most, but not indefinitely.

 

Legolas had nothing with him that might help revive him, no curative herbs, but he chanted the few healing words he knew all the same, willing his father to hear him. He pounded against his back again, and laid him flat once more. 

 

But Thranduil lay still despite Legolas's ministrations.

 

Not knowing what else to do, he tilted Thranduil's head back, and pushed his own breath into Thranduil's mouth, desperate to see the rise and fall of his chest. Thranduil's lips were cold as snow against his, and just as white. 

 

Legolas pulled back. "You must breathe now!" he shouted at him. Though it was useless to yell, emotion overtook his reason and he let out a cry of desperation. 

 

Shaking him in frustration, Legolas cried, "Father, do not do this to your son!" He would not give up. The keep would crumble into the sea before Legolas would stop trying to wake him. 

 

Legolas again pushed breath into Thranduil's mouth as he tried to think. It could not be too late. Legolas could not accept that he had come so close only to fail.  

 

"Ada," he choked. His vision blurred _,_ hot tears burning his eyes. Panic crushed his own breath from him. If Thranduil no longer breathed, then Legolas did not see how he could. _"Please, Ada,"_ Legolas said. "Please, you have to--.” 

 

Thranduil jerked unexpectedly and coughed, gasping and choking. Legolas rolled him onto his side again, and an obscene amount of water choked up from his mouth. 

 

"Breathe!” Legolas commanded as Thranduil coughed, heaving up the sea water he'd unwittingly swallowed. "Breathe, Adar!"

 

Thranduil shook violently, his eyes wide and disoriented as he took heaving breaths in the throes of panic. 

 

“You are alright,” Legolas soothed, clutching him by the shoulders. His father's eyes were open, but were unfocused with wild frenzy. He wasn't sure if Thranduil understood. “Ada, it's me. I have you," he assured. "Legolas has you."

 

His name seemed to catch his father's attention and Thranduil’s gaze drifted upward.He locked eyes with his son, and Legolas saw recognition set his blue eyes alight. 

 

_There you are. I found you,_ Legolas thought. _I found you, Ada._  

 

"Hi," Legolas said with a breathy laugh, tears streaming down his cheeks. Thranduil reached for him and Legolas bowed his head, touching his forehead to Thranduil's as his father held fast to him, feeling joy circle in the bond between them. 

 

There was little time to console each other now, but Thranduil's hand cradling his scalp and soft breath against his cheek held Legolas's panic at bay.With his father alive and in his grasp after long last, Legolas refocused his energy towards getting them both out of the keep in one piece. 

 

Footsteps pounded down the steps, and Legolas looked up to see Tauriel running towards them, fire blazing behind her.  

 

“Is he alright?” she called as she ran, her face set with worry.Tauriel stared at Thranduil in disbelief, having never seen her enduring king laid so low.Legolas nodded, and once Tauriel reached them, together they helped Thranduil sit up.

 

The king coughed, gasping as large a gulp of air as he could manage, and then coughed even more.The smoke was not helping.Legolas kept a hand clamped against his shoulder, squeezing gently.Thranduil seemed alert, but his breath was shallow between coughing fits that would not cease.

 

"Are you okay?" Legolas asked her and she nodded.

 

"Morfindien could have killed me, but let me follow you after he was certain I would be too late to help," she explained. "He told me that my king was dead and that my prince would soon follow-- that we would all soon follow. He chose to stay. He was unwilling to leave the obelisk or the body of that man." 

 

"We need to leave right now," Legolas said. 

 

“We are trapped,” Tauriel replied.“The fire has destroyed the way we came in."

 

"There must be another way out," Legolas said, his eyes sweeping up the stairwell toward the remains of the tower. 

 

Tauriel looked around, and then down into the water. “We have to swim,” she replied."The water is coming through from somewhere, and it must be quite a large opening to have flooded the entire lower level. We can travel through the water under the flames." 

 

Legolas nodded, knowing it was their only option. They both looked at Thranduil and then shared a look of worry.  

 

“Ada,” Legolas said gently.“We have to go back into the water. We will help you.”

 

Thranduil did not have the breath to speak, but he brought a hand up and cupped Legolas’s face, his thumb caressing his cheek and nodded. He coughed again and it seemed unfathomable that he would be able to swim.  

 

But the king was strong willed.Despite his poor condition, he sat tall and proud, and did not let his obvious weakness deter him.If nothing else, Thranduil was a survivor, and he found some kind of reserve within himself to help him brave the next hurdle.

 

"A window frame... across from the cell," Thranduil said in disjointed sentences. "I watched the tide. Go in and out of it. If the structure holds... We could fit through it."

 

With a terrible groan, the keep slanted violently and the stairs above them started to come apart, the bricks shaking free from the mortar, the support beams splintering and snapping.There was no time left-- They needed to get out of there fast.  

 

The three waded into the cold water together, Thranduil supported between Legolas and Tauriel.  

 

"Six feet below, on that wall," Thranduil said, nodding towards it. 

 

"Tauriel will go first, and we'll go right behind her, together," Legolas said. There wasn’t any time for further thought or planning. They would all live or die together.  

 

Tauriel plunged underneath the dark surface, barely making a splash.Bricks began dropping down on them as the wall above shook and fell apart. 

 

Holding fast to Legolas's hand, Thranduil took as deep a breath as he could muster and followed after Tauriel, feeling down the bricks for what seemed like an eternity until he grasped the edge of the window frame and pulled himself and Legolas towards it.Legolas helped to guide him through the frame, and Tauriel grabbed his other hand, and soon they all were through into the deep water of the harbor. 

 

The water was frigid with winter, a numbing cold searing down to Legolas's bones. It burned him at first and then he felt nothing. The cold did not usually have this affect on him, but fatigue had robbed him of his fortitude. Legolas could not imagine what these waters felt like to Thranduil. 

 

Legolas gripped Thranduil around his waist with one arm and pushed hard against the wall of the keep, propelling them upward towards the surface. 

 

They broke through the water, gasping for air as bricks fell around them with large splashes.

 

With a final groan, a death rattle, the castle came down, and they swam for shore to escape the shadow of this falling giant. Waves rushed them, the wake of the collapse, sweeping over their heads and pushing them like rag dolls towards land. Legolas was blinded and disoriented as he was pushed and rolled by the waves, but he gripped Thranduil's hand and held onto him for dear life. Legolas would not be parted from him again, not even if death came to take them to Mandos-- they would go together, or not at all.  

 

The sea expelled them onto the shore, white seafoam spewed around them before retreating back into the depths. 

 

Tauriel stood first, gasping and tossing her wet red mane over her shoulder as she looked around for her king and prince.Legolas pushed himself up, then turned towards his father, who knelt beside him on his hands and knees in the shallow water along the shore. 

 

"Ada?" Legolas asked, reaching for Thranduil, whose breath came in a terrible rattle. His hair hung in his face, looking thin and dark with water. Legolas swept his hair back, and saw how Thranduil trembled, his arms shaking from the effort of holding himself up. 

 

Thranduil gave out, his strength buckling. Getting an arm around him, Legolas cut in just in time, hauling Thranduil to his chest before he could hit the water. 

 

Legolas knelt up with him, gripping him tightly, whispering soothingly to him as Thranduil concentrated on breathing, his cheek against Legolas's shoulder, his body limp against him. Thranduil was frigid like a block of ice, but Legolas held fast to him anyway. 

 

"I have you," Legolas whispered. "I have you.I won't let you go." If Thranduil understood, he could not voice it, needing all of his focus to breathe. But the king did not move from his son's grasp and that was enough for Legolas to know he understood he was safe. 

 

Tauriel came to Thranduil's other side and helped Legolas bring him to shore.The three huddled together and watched as the rest of the keep sunk, shivering in the dark while the last remains of the tower blazed and crumbled, a brilliant light until it was swallowed by the unrelenting sea. 

 

The other elves spotted the trio on the beach and came running.At the sight of their king, the elves looked horrified, but had respect enough to remain silent as they helped bring them allfurther inland.  

 

A woman pushed through the group of elves, asking, "Are you alright? Let me see him."Legolas's eyes were wide and furious, and he brought his arms protectively around his father as if to shield him from this woman.

 

"This is Katrien," Tauriel said gently. "Rona's mother. She's a human healer."

 

"I treated your father before," she said. "Let me see him. Please. I can help if you'll let me." 

 

Legolas did not let his father leave his grasp, though he did relax his stance to allow Katrien to touch him. 

 

"I'm going to check his pulse," she explained as she pressed two fingers to his neck and held them there for half a minute. "He's too cold, and his pulse is thready. There's a wagon ready to take you all to the clinic." She gestured behind her, and Legolas saw Rona standing in the wagon next to the driver's seat, waving her arms overhead. "I can treat him there."

 

Legolas glared at her, but kept his temper in check. This woman could help his father, that is what mattered now. Though through her will for revenge she had nearly killed them all. 

 

"We will have words later," Legolas said, as he helped Thranduil into the back of the transport, and climbed in behind him. 

 

_To be Continued..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for being patient! I know it's short, but it's very intense. (The part with Thranduil drowned in the cell was something I dreamed months and months ago and it tore me terrified from my sleep-- at the time, [I even did art about it.](http://griseldajane.tumblr.com/post/100261144017/inktober-day-15-sad-feels-today-thranduil-in)) I truly hope you liked it. **I would love to hear your thoughts, questions or concerns in the comments!** There's just one chapter left! Last chance!
> 
> I post Thranduil and Legolas art on my [art blog](http://griseldajane.tumblr.com) and post Thranduil and Legolas related media on my [Mirkwood Family blog](http://mirkwoodfamily.tumblr.com). 
> 
> I'm looking to connect with fellow fans, please feel free to follow me or send me a message. It's been super quiet over there and I'm feeling a tad discouraged about this fandom. :/ 
> 
> So, come say hi! :D


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt: _For hundreds of years, for every breath of his life, Thranduil had been beside him, a steadfast and doting presence. Even in more recent years as their relationship became more distant, Legolas never felt unloved, if perhaps misunderstood at times. It was Thranduil who had nurtured and shaped him, and Legolas did not know how to cope in a world with his permanent absence._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this chapter is very sentimental. Be warned for emotional content.

With a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak, Legolas paced with short, quick steps in the small parlour of Katrien’s house, his footfalls making no sound as he tread across the worn floorboards. His hair and clothes were still damp from the sea, and he sniffled despite his insistence that he was unaffected from his time spent in the winter waters.  With unwavering attention, his eyes did not stray from the closed door at the end of the short hallway, knowing his father lay just beyond it being examined by Katrien. Legolas had refused to go anywhere until he knew his father’s condition. An irrational notion that he  _ must not leave  _ grew as steadily as his fatigue. 

 

Once Thranduil had been back in his grasp, Legolas had not intended to be parted from his father for second. By the time they had driven the short distance from the waterfront to the clinic, Thranduil had lost consciousness, and Katrien had hastened to intervene.  The woman was not shy about performing her duties, and she’d had Thranduil pulled away from him and into the clinic before Legolas understood what was happening. 

 

Legolas scrambled to follow his father into the exam room, but Katrien blocked his way. “Please, you must wait outside,” Katrien said, holding her palms up to him as if to ward him back. 

 

“I will not,” Legolas replied, but Katrien was not listening. Eying his bloody limb, she moved towards him with purpose, reaching for his arm with both hands. 

 

“This is nothing,” Legolas said, though he hissed as Katrien pulled the torn fabric of his sleeve away from the wound.  “You should be tending to my father.”

 

“The more you argue with me the longer Thranduil must wait," Katrien said, reaching into her apron pocket for a length of clean cotton.  A flash of worry crossed Legolas’s face. Katrien continued while she bandaged his wounded arm, "Your judgement about him is compromised.  What needs to be done requires privacy, for his sake at least." 

 

"Not from me,” he protested, “I am--."

 

"You are exhausted, emotional, and already interfering with his treatment even though I have not yet begun it,” she said.  Having secured the bandage, she nodded once in satisfaction, before stepping back from him.  “That will hold for the time being,” she said. “Will you let me see your father now, or shall we argue some more?” 

 

What little control he had gained in the past hour was quickly being taken away by this woman.  Though usually slow to anger, Legolas had been pushed to his breaking point after days of stress and fatigue, and his face flushed with outrage.

 

“Why should I let you near my father unattended?” Legolas challenged. “You do not value his life. How can I trust you to save it?”

 

Katrien sighed.  “All right. Let us have it out so we can move past it,” she said, looking him square in the eyes. She was brave, Legolas had to give her that much, for not many could hold his gaze when he glared back with such ire.  

 

"You sabotaged the keep-- the walls were slicked with oil to ensure it would burn," Legolas accused, and when she opened her mouth to refute his claim, he added, “Do not argue otherwise. I saw you all watching the castle burn, doing nothing to stop it. Rona spoke of a diversion, that you had everything all worked out. By your daughter’s innocent admission, I know the fire was your doing.”

 

"Morfindien had to  _ die _ ," Katrien hissed, stepping back from him.  "We couldn't let there be any possibility of his escape. It was our only chance to be rid of him."

 

"But you  _ knew _ my father was inside the keep!" Legolas shouted.  "You stood by and watched the flames devour the tower-- my father would have been killed. And others  _ did _ die." 

 

"We saw a chance to be free, and have revenge in one go, and we took it," she said. “Those men who died chose their fate when they allied themselves with Morfindien. If you had lived under his tyranny and lost  _ everything _ you would not be so righteous.” 

 

"You have no remorse for your actions," Legolas replied.  

 

"How can I?” she asked. “Morfindien killed my husband, and our friends and neighbors-- half of our town. He drove what little hope we had from us. He caused my father in law's death.  And I thought he'd taken Rona from me, too. When people vanish in this town, their bodies are often fished from the sea with Morfindien’s supposed  _ regrets _ … we had to take action.  With that came acceptable losses."

 

Legolas’s eyes flashed. “Acceptable losses!” he shouted, outraged that his beloved father’s life was easily thrown away by menfolk. “Acceptable to whom?”

"I was out of my mind with grief!" Katrien shouted back. She shook her head and said, "Your kind cannot understand... but a parent is not supposed to outlive their child.” She curled her hands into fists at her sides. "It is unnatural to the order of a mortal life. Morfindien inflicted this atrocity  _ twice _ upon my family-- my father in law outlived his son, and I thought I’d outlived my daughter.”  

 

Toughened by the passing of loved ones and the harshness of her locale, Katrien was a woman who did not have the luxury of compassion. She looked at Legolas and only saw what advantage he enjoyed for not suffering the same hardships as she did.

 

"You think the loss of my father would be more acceptable than your losses? You think the love I have for him is any less than yours is for your daughter?" Legolas asked, his pale eyes wide and furious. "It is  _ you _ who does not understand-- the bond I have with my father has grown for over six centuries.  The love I have for him-- your mortal mind cannot fathom it. You have no words for such a love in your language, you possess no understanding of it in your soul. We elves may die of grief from the loss of such a bond. I may seem aloof to you, but I promise you my heart is every bit attuned to this world and those I love in it."

 

Katrien held her ground against his anger and said, "If you love as you say, then you should understand my rage for Morfindien, just as I understand yours for me. Would you not do anything to make those who hurt your father pay? Would you not see retribution for your slain kin?”

 

Legolas had no answer for her. He did not know what he would have done had Thranduil been killed.  The thought of it alone caused him physical pain, and he could say honestly that revenge would not be out of the question. An anger ran deep in his heart for all that had befallen Thranduil and his people at the hands of Morfindien and his marauders. Even now, he felt wrath churning just below the surface. 

 

"Let me start to make amends to you," Katrien said. "Your father needs help and I can help him. Whatever else I am, I am also a good physician.  Let me go to him, and I will call you the second he is able to receive you."

 

“I will honor your ways,” Legolas said, letting her leave without him.  Somehow Legolas denied his impulse to barge in after her, remaining where he stood as he watched Thranduil disappear from view, the door closing shut behind Katrien with a thud.

 

He stood helpless for a moment before walking aimlessly along the short distance of the hallway, needing to move and yet reluctant to depart. 

 

Rona came down the stairs, having changed into a sleep dress, and she sat on the bottom tread, smiling up at him. The child talked while he waited, though Legolas could not muster the concentration to listen, his frown growing deeper every time he heard Thranduil’s terrible cough through the closed door. Legolas paced back and forth growing more impatient as the minutes passed. 

 

The front door opened and Tauriel appeared, approaching him with a gentle smile.  She handed him a set of folded clothes and said, “When you are not feeling so stubborn, you will want these.”

 

“Thanks,” he said, accepting them from her.

 

“Tauriel, you will be staying with me!” Rona said, jumping up from her perch on the stair.  “I have the room all set,” she said rocking up and down on her toes.  “Come see!”

 

“Let me speak with Legolas for a moment, and then I’ll come upstairs. Is that acceptable?” Tauriel said.  The little girl nodded enthusiastically and then bounded up the steps. 

 

Tauriel watched her go before she turned towards Legolas. The prince was lost in thought, staring at the door as if willing it to open. “Legolas, he will be well,” Tauriel said, touching him lightly on the back. 

 

“You did not see him floating in that cage nor feel his lack of breath upon the steps,” Legolas replied. He sighed and turned to look at her, and said, “Report to me of our people. I need the distraction.”

 

Tauriel nodded.  “Our group has split up into shifts and are being hosted by various families in town,” she said.  “The people here have little, but have generously shared what they can with us. There’s a pair of our elves on duty watching the jail. We will rotate pairs every four hours.”

 

Legolas nodded.  “How many of Morfindien’s men were captured?”

 

“There are twenty-seven men in custody,” she said, “We recovered six bodies from the beach.  From what I’ve been told our forces rounded up all the survivors, but there are still eleven unaccounted for.”

 

“And what of Morfindien?” Legolas asked, his voice surprisingly devoid of emotion. 

 

“He has not been found,” Tauriel said.  “If he truly did not leave the keep, then he is one with the sea now… he may, as may others, wash up upon the shore in days to come.” 

 

“We must still be vigilant,” Legolas said.  He clasped Tauriel on the arm and said, “Thank you, Tauriel, mellon-nin. My gratitude is not adequately expressed by these words. We could not have come so far without you. Please, go get some rest.”

 

She smiled and said, “Make sure you do the same,” and left to follow Rona upstairs. 

 

Legolas waited for what felt like an eternity, though it was in fact not more than a half an hour. As soon as Katrien opened the door, Legolas was on her.  "How is he?" he asked as she stepped through, closing the door behind her.

 

"As well as can be expected," she replied. "He is conscious now. He looks frightful, but do not be alarmed. Aside from some bruising and muscle strain, he is surprisingly well. His breathing is much better than it was, though he still needs to be monitored throughout the night. I trust you will volunteer?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Legolas replied.  “Anything he needs.”

 

“It is my understanding that he was kept underwater for an impossible length of time, and so there is understandably water present in his lungs. I have done all I can about that. He will continue to cough for a while yet-- let him. The more fluid he expels the better,” Katrien explained.  

 

Legolas frowned. "Should I be worried?" he asked.

 

“With all respect, I cannot say for certain,” she replied. “I have never treated an elf before him. If a man had suffered what he has, that man would have certainly died.  A man with his symptoms would most likely develop pneumonia, but elven bodies are stalwart where mens would falter. Your father seems very strong, and with that strength, likely to pull through.”

 

Katrien smiled at him and added, “Wait to worry, Legolas,” and opened the door for him. “You can go in to see him for a little while, but he should be resting.  Make sure the fire never goes out, and that he is always warm and wrapped up. No matter what he says, he should not be let outside until his body temperature has returned to normal. Come get me if you need anything at all."

 

Legolas nodded and strode forward towards the door.  He looked back briefly saying, “Thank you, Katrien,” and then stepped inside the kitchen.

 

The lanterns were lit inside, glowing softly and the fire in the stove warmed the room. Buried under several blankets, Thranduil sat perched on a small mattress that had been laid out next to the wood burning stove.  The kitchen was an odd place to host a king, but it was the warmest room in the drafty old house and therefore the best place for Thranduil.

 

Though he wanted to run to him, Legolas kept a slow and steady tread as he neared his father, using the time it took to cross the short distance to study him, to allay or confirm his fears as his eyes swept him up and down. A rush of heat swirled in his head, and Legolas closed his mouth and swallowed back the intense emotions that threatened to overcome him. 

 

Thranduil turned towards the movement he sensed, and his tired eyes came to life, his fea seeming to glow through him with happiness as he gazed up at his son. 

 

“Ada,” Legolas said softly as he came to a stop before the mattress, taking in his countenance. Thranduil’s hair was pulled back from his face, tied loosely at the nape of his neck, and awful purple bruises covered his skin, continuing hidden beneath his clothes.

 

“You are still all wet,” Thranduil observed with a raised eyebrow. He coughed after he spoke, a rough, bruising sound.  

 

“I have dry clothes,” he replied, holding them up.  “I simply have not thought to change yet.”

 

Thranduil regarded him with a shrewd look and said, “I am fine.”

 

“Are you?” Legolas whispered.

 

“Yes, truly, thanks to you,” Thranduil replied. 

 

Legolas could not hold back his questions and asked, “What happened, Adar? How did it come to this?”

 

“I will tell you everything, but first you must indulge your father. Change into those dry clothes and sit with me by the fire.”

 

Legolas did so quickly, shedding his wet clothes and donning the dry set, then he squeezed the moisture from his hair with a towel.  Thranduil frowned as he eyed the bandage on Legolas’s arm, but did not comment, knowing what a dangerous few days they’d both had. 

 

Already Legolas began to feel more like himself as he knelt beside the fire, letting the warmth from the wood burning stove dry his hair.  “Tell me what happened,” Legolas said.  “I only have pieces of the story.”

 

Thranduil stared into the flames of the fire for a long time before speaking. "It is difficult for me to know everything that happened at the beginning. I remember very little of it," he said, his eyes falling closed, trying to recall the images from his mind.  "We were ambushed on the road.  It was chaotic and sudden.  The commander of these men, Halvard, intended to slay every elf, and he did. I was struck from behind and overwhelmed by them as they thrashed me.  At that point I lost consciousness.  My next clear memory comes some time later, after I was already chained and halfway to the keep."  A rugged coughing spell followed his words and Thranduil turned into his arm to expel it.

 

"There were a few survivors, Adar," Legolas said when Thranduil turned back towards him.  "I felt something was terribly wrong and lead a group into the woods to search for you.  We found the remains of your entourage.  But two surviving elves were rushed back to the stronghold for healing."

 

"Thank the Valar," Thranduil said.  “I do not know how long it took us to travel here. I was not fully cognizant for most of it. When we arrived here, a man called Eskil intercepted us and managed to persuade Halvard that I needed medical attention, and that is how I met Katrien and Rona.”

 

“That is when you gave Rona your ring,” Legolas guessed, and held up his hand to show his father that Oropher’s ring had found its way to him.  Reaching for Legolas’s hand, Thranduil held it between his two and smiled, running a thumb over the polished stone in the center of the ring.  

 

“She found you after all,” he remarked.  “I’d given the ring to her grandfather, Eskil, but he was killed before he had a chance to act.  Rona decided all on her own to bring it to you.”  

 

Legolas slipped his hand away, intent on returning the ring to his father.

 

“No, Legolas, you keep it,” Thranduil said as Legolas pulled the ring from his finger.  “I always intended for you to have it.”

 

Shaking his head, Legolas held the ring out to his father.  “Now is not the time, Adar.  I would rather receive this ring the way you intended me to have it,” he said, pressing the jeweled band in his palm.  "I do not want to look at it and remember... this."  

 

Thranduil nodded and placed the ring back on his left hand.

 

“I was then taken to the keep and that is where I met Morfindien,” Thranduil said.  

 

“My interaction with him was brief,” Legolas said, “but it was enough for me to know his intentions were sinister. What did he want with you Adar? Why did he kill so many to have you?”

 

“He was mad, an elf tormented into insanity,” Thranduil said. “He wanted my help with a wild fantasy that would end his anguish.  I might have helped him had he asked for what would have truly healed him, but he asked for the wrong thing. I could not persuade him otherwise.” 

 

“That obelisk,” Legolas said.  “There was something inside it that Morfindien would not abandon, not even to save his own life. What was it?”

 

Thranduil shook his head.  “No. For your welfare, I will not share that with you. I alone know what lay within, and it is better for all that way.” 

 

“Morfindien took many lives for that information,” Legolas replied. Remembering suddenly, Legolas said, "That man, Halvard? He saved us."

 

Thranduil leaned back a little in surprise and said, "Halvard did?" 

 

"Yes. Morfindien gave me the key to your cell without a fuss, but it was Halvard who insisted I be given the key to your shackles.” Legolas paused, his mouth going dry. “I did not know what I was about to find, but Halvard knew.  He knew I would go down those steps and find you-- find you drowned… He knew I would die trying to free you from chains that could never be broken. Halvard was killed saving me from Morfiniden when I tried to take the key from him."

 

“Oh Halvard,” Thranduil said.  “He was a peculiar man, but he knew himself. He told me he would get his one day and he was right.” 

 

“All these lives destroyed, for what? That obelisk must have been very important,” Legolas said.

 

“To Morfindien it was,” Thranduil said.  “He was an elf who endured much torment, and in the end, he did not survive it.  He was looking for peace, but in a place where he could never hope to find it.”

 

“Why do you think did he not sail to Valinor?” Legolas asked. “Many elves who have suffered have chosen to go there.” 

 

“He did not feel kindred to his own kind,” Thranduil said.  “When he was most vulnerable, he was rejected by us, and rejected us in turn.”  Thranduil fell silent and his gaze was far away.  “I could not help him from his misery. Things might have turned out differently had I not failed to reach him.” 

 

“He did not  _ deserve _ your help,” Legolas retorted, suddenly angry. “He is responsible for his own actions, for much strife, and many deaths! Do not spare him any more thought.”

 

“I do not absolve him of his sins, Legolas,” Thranduil said.  “But a king should be aware of his failures, of the hardships endured by others at his behest.”

 

Legolas had neither the patience nor understanding of his father, but he kept his dissent to himself, even if it did show on his face.  As Thranduil watched him, he looked as if he might laugh at his vexed manner.

 

"Come here," Thranduil said, opening his arms to him.  Legolas obeyed, kneeling on the floor before his father.  Smoothing his hands over his scalp and down the sides of his head, Thranduil cupped Legolas's face between both hands, studying his features with a fierce gaze, and for the moment, his devout attention mollified the ire in Legolas’s heart. 

 

There was a time when they would have hesitated to linger so close, to touch and soothe and show their love plainly. But after all that had happened, Legolas went easily into his father's arms, and Thranduil held nothing back. 

 

Grief shadowed Thranduil's eyes. Legolas thought about his father locked in that cell as the water pooled in slowly but surely to drown him.  Thranduil had thought he would not see Legolas again, that he would die and be forced to wait in Mandos, perhaps until the end of time. 

 

"Ion-nin," he whispered.  His words trembled with emotion, and it was all the invitation the prince needed. 

 

Legolas flung himself into his father's arms like he had not done since he was small, his cheek pressed to Thranduil's chest, his arms around his waist. Despite that Legolas was fully grown, Thranduil could still wrap his arms wholly around him as if he were his cherished little elfling, and he did so, burying his face in the crook of Legolas's neck.  

 

Though Legolas had not doubted his place in Thranduil’s heart, he regretted that they were not as close as they once were.  The prince and the king sometimes had drastically differing points of view, and there were times that Legolas yearned to be free like the wind whistling through the woods, away from his responsibilities and overprotective father.

 

But right now, after those few harrowing moments on that watery landing when Thranduil lay still in death’s embrace, Legolas desired to restore the uninhibited closeness they once shared with each other, that he remembered with fond affection from his youth.

 

Thranduil shivered against him, his body temperature abnormally low. The coldness of the night time waters clung to him like a great shadow. Legolas had never felt such a coldness about him before.  It was unnerving, another reminder of how close Thranduil had come to the Hall of Mandos. 

 

“If this is the trouble you get into when you venture outside our borders, then you should never stray from the stronghold again,” Legolas whispered.  “I thought I gave you grief, but the grief you have put me through these past few days is unmatched.” 

 

Thranduil chuckled a little, and Legolas leaned back to look up at him, keeping his hands tucked around Thranduil’s sides. 

 

With Thranduil’s hair drawn away from his face, Legolas had a close-up view of the deep purple bruising on Thranduil’s neck and shoulders, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth.  “Oh, Adar,” he whispered, moving to sit beside him on the mattress.  Legolas reached out with tentative fingers, but stopped just shy of touching him.  Thranduil’s skin was ashen, a sickly hue of pale, the bruising making his undamaged flesh seem a ghostly alabaster by contrast, and his lips were tinged with a blue that Legolas did not like one bit.

 

“It looks worse than it is,” Thranduil said, trying to downplay his hurts as Legolas frowned over him, much the way Legolas did when he stood before his father after a rough patrol.

 

Lifting Thranduil’s hands, he examined where the iron cuffs had been. There were thick bandages wrapped around each arm that wound from wrist to elbow, his flesh having been rubbed raw from days of chaffing against the shackles. As Legolas inspected the damage, turning each arm gently to and fro, Thranduil winced his range of motion limited by the strain of the great weight against his limbs. 

 

“I promise you, my leaf, I will be all right,” Thranduil insisted as a shiver rumbled through him. 

 

Legolas tutted, reaching for the blanket, draping it more firmly around his shoulders.  “I told Katrien I would take care of you and I have not upheld my word,” Legolas said.  “You should be covered up and resting.” He ran his hands up and down Thranduil’s shoulders to generate warmth there. As he did, Legolas realized his father was struggling to remain upright.  

 

Never wanting to appear vulnerable, not even to his son, Thranduil kept tight control over himself at all times.  He rarely let anything raw slip through the bond they shared.  But his unwavering, almost stubborn constitution was now difficult to maintain when he was so debilitated. 

 

Legolas thought,  _ I must lay my sentiments bare so that he might feel safe to do the same,  _ and he moved closer to lavish affection on him. Leaning into him, Legolas nosed at his cheek, and then touched his forehead against Thranduil’s temple.

 

"You have fought for days and days, but now it is time to rest," Legolas whispered. "Let me uphold you as you have always upheld me. Trust in me, Adar-nin."

 

Sitting back enough to look up into Thranduil’s tired face, Legolas kept his heart open as he searched his father’s pale eyes for understanding.   _ Do you know how you are loved _ ? Legolas thought.   _ I am strong. Let me bear your burdens. _

 

Thranduil’s eyes shone, and he smiled briefly before pulling Legolas into an embrace, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.  Legolas held fast to him, his grip fierce, even though Thranduil was cold to the touch. 

 

Through their bond, Legolas felt the moment Thranduil let go of his struggle.  From one who was resolutely strong, his sudden vulnerability was shocking. Legolas gasped softly as the breadth of Thranduil’s anguish washed over him, and he tightened his arms around his father, holding him close to shelter him with love and guard him from the cold. 

 

A fierce protectiveness gripped Legolas. He swore a silent oath to safeguard his vulnerable father by any means necessary.  It was no accident that Thranduil kept such tight control over himself.  Emotions ran deep in him, a realization that Legolas was only beginning to understand. 

 

Thranduil did not argue.  It was as if someone had cut his strings, for he drooped very suddenly. His body simply would not comply to his commands. Falling back on the mattress, he wreathed into himself, pulling the blanket tightly around himself. 

 

“Try to rest,” Legolas whispered, and he inclined towards Thranduil, staring down into the face he loved so dearly. His heart was filled with adulation, welling up such that he could not contain it.  Leaning in, he moved close to his father, and held a gentle kiss to Thranduil’s cheek.  Surprise flickered across Thranduil's face, but Legolas's show of affection pleased him very much, his eyes coming alight with happiness for a moment before fatigue took him again.

 

Thranduil could not lay back for long before his coughing fits began again in earnest.  Rough, bruising hacks that shook his frame and brought tears to his eyes. Legolas climbed into the bed next to Thranduil, helping his father to sit up. He piled up the two thin pillows that had been left out for them, and then lay back himself, gently tugging Thranduil down towards him, holding him close, using his own body to elevate and warm him at once.

 

After a while, heat pooled between them, comfortable and intimate, and for the first time in a long time, Legolas's mind was at peace.  Neither father nor son were asleep, but they laid in companionable silence, Thranduil’s head on Legolas’s shoulder, Legolas’s arms around him. They existed together as if one living thing, breathing in time with one another, their hearts beating in tandem, a gentle rhythm echoing through each other. Legolas never felt more connected to his father than he did in this moment.

 

He was reminded of the last time they held each other this close, centuries ago when the memory of his deceased mother had brought a creeping melancholia to each of their hearts, like rain slinking along a window pane. Legolas had gone to his father’s room in the middle of the night as he had not done since he was an elfling, and was lovingly accepted into his remaining parent’s embrace, enfolded wholly in his arms without words or questions, as they both waited out the storm. 

 

After a while, Thranduil’s shivering abated, though every now and then a tremor ran through him, the last bit of chill leaving his system, and his coughing tapered off enough for them both to find sleep. 

 

*****

 

Legolas stood before the throne looking up at his father. They were home, back in their underground stronghold. Legolas looked around the great hall, knowing that he should be comfortable and at ease, but instead felt a pang in his chest. 

 

Thranduil stared ahead. He did not seem to see his son. 

 

Legolas called to him, but Thranduil's gaze did not change, he stared ahead unblinking as his face grew pale. 

 

Rushing the steps to the throne, Legolas called and reached out for his father. The steps grew in number, multiplying like an endless staircase. Legolas redoubled his efforts, taking the steps two at a time, and when he managed to reach the top at last, gripping his father by the arms,

Thranduil was cold to the touch. He stared eerily past Legolas at nothing. 

 

"Adar!," Legolas shouted, shaking him. Thranduil did not respond, but his mouth fell open and water leaked out in a steady flow, bubbling up from within. 

 

_ "No!"  _ Legolas shrieked as he clutched his father, who was dead in his grasp. 

 

Legolas sat straight up, a strangled cry on his lips. He blinked in the darkness, taking a moment to discern where he was. The faint glow of the hearth at his right illuminated the body asleep beside him. 

 

_ It was just a dream,  _ he thought.  _ A nightmare _ . 

 

Legolas studied his father, watching intently for the rise and fall of his chest. Thranduil had shifted in his sleep, curling around a pillow, though his shoulder was firmly pressed against Legolas’s side.  His breath was steady, if somewhat labored, a faint wheeze upon each inhale. 

 

But breathe, he did. Thranduil was alive, and mostly well. He was not a corpse as Legolas saw when he closed his eyes.  Though Legolas knew this, it did not chase away his fear. He felt a knot twist in his stomach like a lethal blade. 

 

Legolas laid back down, leaning close to Thranduil, listening as he rasped, a harrowing sound. Legolas splayed a hand along his back as he coughed, feeling his body shaking from the effort. 

 

_ He is alive,  _ Legolas reminded himself. _ It is better for him to breathe with a rattle than be silent in death.  _

 

Wide awake, Legolas listened to him breathe. Rarely had he seen his resolute and perfectly poised father so undone. Ghosting gentle fingers along his side, Legolas turned and curled up behind him, tucking his arms around Thranduil, maneuvering him carefully to keep his head and chest elevated without waking him. As he did, Thranduil stirred briefly to cough, but fell back into an exhausted sleep. 

 

A tension rose in Legolas, winding tighter and tighter inside him. Now that the urgency of rescuing Thranduil was finished, Legolas felt shaky and exposed. Fear had gripped him in its clutches, stretching him long and thin, and now he struggled to recall himself. 

 

For a few harrowing minutes, Legolas had known what it was to lose Thranduil, and in that moment he understood what true dolor was.  He had been quite young when his mother had died, and though he had known her and loved her dearly, it was not the same as  _ this _ , for he had had his father to comfort and protect him then. For hundreds of years, for every breath of his life, Thranduil had been beside him, a steadfast and doting presence.  Even in more recent years as their relationship became more distant, Legolas never felt unloved, if perhaps misunderstood at times. It was Thranduil who had nurtured and shaped him, and Legolas did not know how to cope in a world with his permanent absence. 

 

No matter how he tried, Legolas could not find sleep. Everytime he attempted to rest, his treacherous mind flashed back to the memory of his father lying breathless on the landing.  Legolas started, shaking his head as if to shake free the traumatic thought, and he reached for his father each time, resting the flat of his hand against his chest, feeling for the rise and fall of it, listening carefully to his labored breath.

 

Anxiety had Legolas in its clutches and would not let go. 

  
  


*****

 

In the small hours of the morning, Thranduil woke in a coughing fit, pushing himself up from the mattress suddenly. 

 

“Adar?” Legolas asked instantly alert, but Thranduil could do nothing except wheeze between rough coughs.  

 

Legolas sat up with him, hovering at his side like a hummingbird, flitting quickly about him, his heart beating just as fast. Thranduil shuddered in a breath, gesturing to Legolas that he was fine, but that did not stop the prince from calling for Katrien. 

 

The kitchen door opened soon after and Katrien came through it. Taking one look at Thranduil, she went knowingly to her cupboards, grabbing a lidded canister and placing it on the counter. 

 

“He cannot breathe. He’s getting worse,” Legolas said. There was nothing he could do, and that familiar need to move and outdistance his concerns brought him to his feet. 

 

“No, no, he’s been laying down too long,” Katrien replied.  “Congestion in the chest and lungs will always seem worse after sleeping when the fluid has had a chance to settle.”  As she filled a kettle with water and put it on the stovetop to boil, she said, “I have a remedy that will help.” 

 

Frustrated by his helplessness, Legolas ran his fingers through his hair and gave a short tug to his archer braids as he tracked her movements around the kitchen. 

 

Thranduil was watching him, and as he coughed, he looked amused.  “Haven’t seen you… do that… since you were… small,” he rasped.

 

“Stop talking,” Legolas snapped.  He moved to sit next to his father, perching on the edge of the mattress with a tense, stiff drop. 

 

Through his coughing, Thranduil reached out and playfully tugged on one of Legolas’s braids.  His hand shot out instantly to clamp the braid to his head, pulling it from Thranduil’s grasp. Legolas was determined to be worried.  Thranduil chuckled and then launched into another coughing fit. 

 

“How can you laugh?” Legolas demanded, staring aghast at his father who seemed unconcerned with his own health.  _ Does he realize he nearly died? Does he not remember those few minutes when he was not in this world? _

 

In reply, Thranduil patted Legolas’s thigh twice as if to gently chastise him for his fretting, and let his hand rest on Legolas’s knee.  Despite himself, Legolas was soothed by the contact, his stiff posture drooping into a tired slouch. They sat side by side, saying nothing, Thranduil’s sharp breath the only sound between them. 

 

Katrien measured dried slices of some kind of a red berry into a tea cup while she waited for the water to finish heating up.

 

“What is that?” Legolas asked.

 

“Dried Hawthorn berry,” she replied.  “I will brew a tea with it.”

 

Thranduil had managed to get a handle on his coughing, and he clasped Legolas’s shoulder to draw his attention away from Katrien.  Legolas turned back to him, worry written across his features.  Reaching out, Thranduil swept his hand over Legolas's head, and brought his palm around to cup Legolas's cheek, his pale eyes were tired but scrutinizing. 

 

"You did not sleep," he surmised, and then turned away to cough into his arm. 

 

"I did a little," Legolas insisted.

 

Thranduil turned back to him and said, "Not enough." 

 

Katrien came to the makeshift bedside with a tea service on a tray and set it on the floor. “Drink this. Focus on breathing. Coughing is okay unless you cough up pink. Do not talk. You may feel drowsy, but you should not lie down.”

 

“How will that help?” Legolas asked.

 

“It may help draw out the fluid that is still present in his lungs,” she said. “I know you elves have different ways, but you’ll just have to make do with what I've got for now.”

 

“I meant no offense,” Legolas said. 

 

Katrien nodded and said, “We’re all tired and short tempered.  You should rest, too, Legolas.” 

 

And though Legolas nodded, he knew he would find no peace. He wondered if this is what mortals felt all the time. How did they not live every moment in fear of losing a loved one to the failings of their fragile bodies?

 

A tension rose in Legolas as he watched his father take short breaths between sips of tea. Thranduil was already responding to Katrien's treatment, and he looked greatly improved from when he had collapsed on the shore, but Legolas took little comfort in it.  A fist of ice clenched around his heart as he waited for the seemingly inevitable moment when Thranduil would succumb. 

 

*****

 

Thranduil was perhaps the worst patient in Middle Earth. There had been a few times in his long life where he had suffered serious injury, and certainly intense emotional distress, but for the most part he was completely unaccustomed to being laid up. 

 

Thranduil could still not take deep breaths without wheezing, and he was quickly overcome with chills if not wrapped in a cloak.  Begrudgingly, he could admit to himself alone that he needed time to rest. His body was still sore, and though his cough had lessened, it clung to him like a burr. Despite this, Thranduil thought that he if should spend another hour watching the sun creep along the wall he would go mad.

 

Two days had passed since he had been brought to Katrien’s home, and nobody except Thranduil thought that two days were an adequate amount of time in which to recover. Early this morning when Legolas had risen, Thranduil had tried to do the same. But Legolas had reminded him that less than forty-eight hours ago, Thranduil had lain in a watery grave, and that it was perfectly normal for him not to be fully recovered. 

 

The king was stubborn-- the only thing keeping him bedridden was that the ever present look of anxiety on Legolas’s face lessened when he agreed to remain in bed. 

 

Thranduil was deeply concerned about his son.  It was clear that Legolas had not slept through a single night since he had been here.  The prince’s behavior was overtly emotional and erratic of late. He was tense and watched Thranduil’s every move intently, and he had even snapped at Tauriel a few times over nothing.  Before the sun set today, Thranduil vowed that he would find a way to lessen his son’s distress. 

 

Even Tauriel, who was not easily shaken, had been disturbed by her king's sudden fatigue. Thranduil did not know if he should be flattered or insulted by the reaction of his people upon seeing him within the past two days.  His people were accustomed to his unwavering strength.  Seeing Thranduil tire easily, or cough and wheeze, or anything that was uncharacteristic of their king, unnerved the other elves. Aware of how his well being affected his people, Thranduil did his best to project a state of calm.

 

Sighing in discontent, Thranduil sat up from the small bed. With his arms clasped above his head, he stretched languidly, easing some of the soreness he felt from days of sleeping on a straw mattress on the floor.  His strength was returning with each hour that passed, but it was not fast enough for him. He wanted nothing more than to return to his beloved Greenwood and put this encounter firmly in the past.  

 

As he walked to the window, Thranduil observed that the town was gathering, congregating in the street outside Katrien's home and makeshift clinic.  With the all town assembled, it was clear to see how they could not have ousted Morfindien and his forces themselves.  They were all worn down by the harsh locale, widows with their small willowy children, shriveled men and women in the winter of their lives.  Few of the people seemed healthy and hale, and the outlaws had quickly weeded out any people who could have defied them. 

 

With their town administrator and sheriff both killed, the people gravitated towards a natural leader and they looked to Katrien for guidance.  They had chosen her, despite her protests, and Thranduil thought they had chosen wisely.  

 

It was clear to him that Katrien had a strong character and would endure during times of stress.  She could make tough decisions that supported the greater good which was sometimes necessary when governing a group of people.

 

Legolas had told Thranduil that their army was coming, that they would most likely march to the river and sail down it, which would be faster than their journey across the landscape. Thranduil did not want to interfere too much, but he could see that these men and women needed help.  He felt he owed them some recompense for the kindness that had been shown to him. The elves would help to restore the town from its ravagement, and rebuild what damage they could, and they in turn would have a hand in deciding what should be done with the outlaws.  

 

He'd learned that the band of marauders had come from across the sea, and Thranduil had a mind to return them there for incarceration. Not only did he not want these wretched men in the cells of the Greenwood, he did not want them to stay here, where the economy could not support it, where the risk of escape was greatest.  These seatown people had suffered greatly at their hands. 

 

Of course, Thranduil thought about the proper punishment for what these men had done. Not all of them, he learned, had the same level of involvement. Many were in thrall to Morfindien as if they too had worn shackles.

 

Execution would not be an unsuitable punishment, and he thought a long time on whether he should insist upon it or not.  Despite how it might seem to others, it was never an easy thing to take a life. He thought much on his choices, but once made, he carried them out swiftly and without regret. 

 

It had not escaped his attention that he was particularly emotionally compromised in this matter.  Simmering beneath his calm demeanor was a deep vein of anger.  When he remembered how his people were ruthlessly killed, he felt a tremor of violence threaten to topple his calm facade. 

 

And when he looked at his son, and the toll this whole ordeal had taken on him, the anger turned cold.  Though Legolas had grown into a serious warrior, he had not completely lost his childhood joy, often bringing a bit of his jubilant spirit to everything he did.  But a light had been extinguished from his son's eyes and he would give all his kingdom to have it back.  

 

He watched the impromptu gathering from the window, and though he would be reprimanded, Thranduil needed to be present.  He gathered a cloak that had been left for him around his shoulders and slowly walked from his small room towards the parlor, with one hand trailing along the wall for support.  The king was unaccustomed to being unwell, and it irritated him that he could not move as he pleased without discomfort. 

 

His muscles were sore from days of walking around in irons and his chest ached from his coughing fits, making it difficult to draw breath, which was all the more apparent now that he was moving around.  As he stood at the entrance to the front room, he saw Legolas peering out the window, watching the crowd forming with a solemn expression, obviously drawing the same conclusion that Thranduil had-- that he needed to be out there. 

 

"Help and old elf, would you?" Thranduil asked, and grinned as Legolas whipped around, surprised to see him up.  But Legolas’s expression immediately fell from surprise to irritation. 

 

"You should be resting," Legolas scolded, coming towards him.

 

"The men have congregated out there to discuss what to do next. I must be present to represent our stake in the matter," Thranduil replied.

 

"I will go," Legolas said quickly.  "You placed me in charge, remember?"

 

Thranduil smiled and said, "I remember. You speak for our people. I will, however, be present at your side." 

"Adar," Legolas said, his voice unhappy, his eyes intense.  “You need to rest.”

 

“Do not give me such a look,” Thranduil said.  

 

“What sort of look is that?” Legolas asked.

 

“One that causes this furrow,” he said, tracing a gentle finger between Legolas’s brows.  “Do not fret, my leaf.” 

 

Legolas jerked away, scowling, but Thranduil caught him by the arms and held fast to him.  Legolas tried to pull free, and seemed somewhat surprised that Thranduil held him in place with little effort.  Thranduil smiled gently, wanting to ease his son’s distress, but it had the exact opposite effect.  

 

“You are  _ amused _ by my worry for you?” Legolas retorted.  “Have I not just cause to be upset?” he growled, and wrenched himself from his father's grasp, turning away. 

 

A pang struck his heart and Thranduil hesitated before speaking.  He softly replied, “I have not known you to linger in discontent, even in our darker moments.”  He risked touching the tense muscles of Legolas’s back with a gentle hand at his shoulder. “Tell me, ion-nin, what troubles you so,” Thranduil said. “Whatever it is, we will see it right together.”

 

For a long moment, Thranduil thought Legolas might refuse him. He was unmoving like a river bed amidst frozen winter, cold and stiff but with a raging heart just below the surface.  But then Legolas shook his head back and forth, and when he turned to face his father his eyes glittered with tears.

 

“You are all I have,” Legolas whispered.  “You are  _ everything  _ to me. And I did not protect you. Adar, you were-- you were--  _ dead _ \--."

 

His words choked off and Legolas retreated further from Thranduil, pulling from his touch, hiding himself by turning away as if ashamed. “My heart may never recover itself after having to  _ push the breath _ back into your body," he whispered. "You are my king and my father. I failed you on both accounts.”

 

“How can you think that?” Thranduil asked sharply.  “You  _ saved _ me, Legolas, as no other could have. Let  _ that _ be what you keep in your heart.”

 

“It is not as easy as that,” Legolas replied. 

 

“But it  _ is _ the truth,” Thranduil insisted. “You are the reason I am standing here now.  _ You. _ And it is through no fault of yours, through no lack of love or devotion that I was taken and brought to face my death. My life has been very long, Legolas, and I have faced much peril. We live in difficult times, and I suspect such a thing may happen again before peace is restored.” 

 

“You make little my concern,” Legolas accused. 

 

“ _ No _ ," Thranduil said quickly.  “No, but I see how you are shaken. And I am in part responsible, and for that I am deeply sorry.”

 

A scowled twisted Legolas’s face and he shouted, “Those men are responsible!  Morfindien is responsible! He took delight in your demise-- he  _ mocked me _ with your slow death-- I should have stuck them all with arrows when I had the chance!”

 

Legolas was as worked up as Thranduil had ever seen him, his helplessness and frustration by the situation very clear.  Drawing Legolas towards him by the shoulders he said, “If the actions of these men can move my fair and just son towards revenge, I see how deeply I am loved.”

 

"I cannot unsee it," Legolas whispered. "I cannot unsee  _ you _ , laying there as good as dead, taken from me as... as mother was.  We parted from one another as elves were never meant to be. I was too young when we lost mother to truly understand... But for a terrible instant I knew what it meant to lose  _ you _ .  I cannot forget it. I am scarred by the loss of you, Adar."

 

“My leaf,” Thranduil said, encompassing his arms around Legolas, pulling his son into as tight as embrace as he could muster. "You did not lose me. I am here and I am safe just as you are.”

 

Legolas resisted him at first, standing rigid as a tree trunk, but then he loosed a ragged breath, and relinquished himself to Thranduil’s embrace. Thranduil pressed a kiss to the top of his head and held him, remorse and helpless anger for his child's suffering stirring within him. Morfindien had not won, and yet in some ways he had triumphed. 

 

"It is over now, my treasure," he said. "While we cannot change what has happened, we can decide how we will react.  Legolas, you must move forward from here or it is here you will be stuck.” 

 

Legolas nodded against his shoulder.  “I am sorry. I do not know what has come over me. I am  _ angry _ , Adar, like I have never been before.  In all my life, I have never been frightened like this, and it holds to me still. I have never had to worry about you in this way before, and I do not like it. In the most terrible of ways I have come to understand you, and your precautions for my safety a little better.”

 

“Then some good has come from this after all,” Thranduil said, his lips quirking upwards in a small smile. “It is alright to feel anger, but do not let it rule you. These fears will lessen in time. Listen, do you not hear my heartbeat? Can you not feel my breath, or see the the resolve in my eyes? You must trust me, as I have learned to trust you."

 

“I will  _ try _ to heed your words,” Legolas said. “But when I close my eyes, I see you floating dead in the water. I cannot sleep for the fear of seeing you dead.” 

 

“Come to me in those moments, Legolas,” Thranduil replied. “Put your head on my chest and hear my heart beating. Bring your cheek to my lips and feel my breath. Wake me and look into my eyes. I will not fail you. I will answer your call and quiet your fears.”

 

“Yes, father,” Legolas said. “Thank you,” he whispered. Legolas leaned back from him and said, “If we are going out there we should go now.” 

 

Thranduil studied his face and saw that the burden he carried had lessened after speaking his fears aloud. 

 

“Does an old elf still need help?” Legolas asked, offering his arm with an impudent look. 

 

Thranduil looped his arm around Legolas’s and replied, “Yes, an old elf does. Mind yourself, ion-nin, or I might do something embarrassing in front of your patrol like hold your hand.”

 

When they left the house and stood on the front steps, the elves in the crowd stood and bowed to their king with a fist crossed over their chests, and then they smiled and gave elvish blessings of thanks.  This was the the first time many of the elves had seen the king since he had been rescued on the shore.   

 

Thranduil felt the warm glow of the love of his people and smiled at them, bowing his head in return of thanks.  It was a lot colder outside the house and Thranduil was glad for Legolas at his side. 

 

The town asked Thranduil for help, and true to his world, Thranduil let Legolas answer, gently patting his hand before releasing him. 

 

Legolas took a few paces forward and said, “I will speak for the king.” 

 

Legolas listened to what the people had to say, their concerns, they mostly did not know how to proceed.  Legolas promised them the aid of the Woodland Realm, that the elves would stay on for a while, and help them rebuild and plan for a future here.

 

Then they asked him what should be done about the outlaw men.  Legolas was quiet for a moment and said, “Many peoples have been affected by the abominations of these men and no one person can decide their fate.” He proposed a council be formed to help put the town back together and to decide the fate of Morfindien’s men. 

 

The townspeople were in agreement that a council would be formed today to help decide and that Legolas would be part of it to represent the elves.  They would regroup in the afternoon. 

 

Thranduil was always proud of his son, but his smile could not be contained as Legolas spoke.  He grew tired and cold, shivering in his borrowed cloak, but it hardly bothered him for the warmth of pride he felt as he watched his son.

 

As they dispersed, Legolas turned back towards his father.  “Adar, you’ve been outside too long,” he said, taking Thranduil by the arm and ushering him into the house. 

 

“You spoke well, Legolas,” Thranduil said.  “You have made your people, and me, very proud.”  

 

Legolas smiled a little but said nothing.  He guided Thranduil to a chair by the hearth and stoked the fire.  “Katrien is still busy, but I think I can find my way to getting you a cup of tea.”

  
  


*****

 

The sky was a brilliant orange as the sun began its descent towards the horizon, splashing warm light cross Legolas’s tired face. Days of restlessness had taken its toll on the elf, exhaustion burning his eyes and making his movements slow. His lack of sleep had caught up with him, and he yawned as he walked down the stone road approaching Katrien’s house. 

 

Admitting his fears to his father had opened a floodgate of relief, soothing his troubled mind. The edge of energy that his anxieties generated had abated, leaving him exhausted and yet with a sense of profound relief.  Thranduil had known exactly what he needed to lull his fears. He was truly a wise ruler and father.

 

Legolas had spent the afternoon with the council of men, sorting out what was to be done in the aftermath of Morfindien’s occupation, and now the only task before him was a short distance from the local tavern where the council had met to Katrien’s house.  

 

He walked, tired but pleased with the decision they had come upon. 

 

The council decided that there had already been too much death, and that the town would perish if they did not focus their efforts on rebuilding.  In lieu of execution, the men would help work off their debt by helping to rebuild what they had destroyed.  In the meantime, Legolas promised to loan them Woodland Realm soldiers to strengthen their forces, and make sure the men did not try to revolt while the rebuilding was taking place. The council also decided that they would investigate where these men were from and if they could be extradited back to their places of origin.

 

There could be no recompense for the lives lost, elven or otherwise.  It was made clear to each of the marauders that if they ever were free men again, and stepped foot on these shores or in the forests of the Greenwood, they would be shot on sight. Elves lived a long time, and they would not soon forget those who had trespassed upon their people. 

 

When Legolas returned to Katrien’s house, he went directly to the kitchen expecting to see Thranduil sitting by the wood burning stove. Instead, the kitchen was empty, the light in the stove reduced to embers.  There was an untouched cup of tea on the table, and the blanket that should have been wrapped around his father’s shoulders was thrown haphazardly on the floor. 

 

Legolas bent to retrieve it, gripping the fabric in tight fists before hurrying from the room. A flash of irritation caused him to mumble, “Damned stubborn elf.”

 

With a quick search of the house revealing that Thranduil was nowhere on the premises, Legolas ran back outside. He found Tauriel around the side of the small dwelling, speaking with two other elves.

 

“Tauriel, where is my father?” Legolas asked. “He should be resting and instead is not.”

 

Tauriel greeted him with a bowed head and said, “My lord, do not be alarmed but the king is-- absent.”

 

“What do you mean he is  _ absent _ ?” Legolas said, his voice rising. “How could he leave here unnoticed?”

 

“You know as well as I do that when he decides to do something he can not be deterred,” she replied. “And who would stop the Elvenking when he is so determined?”

 

“Apparently only I am so foolish,” Legolas replied.  “We must find him before we lose the light.”

 

“I have been informed that bodies have washed up on the shore,” Tauriel said.  “There were whispers that one of them might be Morfindien. We suspect that the king has returned to the keep. ” 

 

A tight frown tugged at Legolas’s lips. Why would his father possibly want to see the corpse of his tormentor? Could Thranduil be more affected by his captivity than he let on? The possible answer worried him. 

 

“All the more reason to hurry,” Legolas replied as he turned towards the fence post to borrow a horse. “I will head towards the beach, while you three do a cursory sweep of the town.”

 

Legolas sat astride the horse and did not look back as he rode in the direction of the shore.  A wagon tottered on the road up ahead.  Men with somber faces drove the bodies that were recovered from the beach into town.  A quick glance was enough for Legolas to see that Thranduil was not with them. He urged his horse onward, kicking up sand as he trot onto the beach. 

 

A few paces from the water’s edge, Thranduil stood looking out over the wreckage of the tower, his long hair billowing wildly behind him in the furious wind. 

 

“Father!” Legolas called to him, as he dismounted from his horse.  “What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes wide and fiercely blue.  “It is far too cold for you to be out here,” Legolas scolded as he came around to his father’s side. 

 

“I thought I would have returned to Katrien’s house before you did,” Thranduil replied without looking up from the wreckage.  He paid no mind as the water lapped at the hem of his cloak. “Bodies were discovered today, washed up on the shore,” he said.

 

“The men have taken care of it. What could have possessed you to come all the way--.” Legolas began. 

 

“We have to recover Morfindien’s body,” Thranduil interrupted. He turned towards Legolas, his eyes glazed with fatigue and stress. “It is not right to leave him. There were whispers that Morfindien was here, but I have not found him. I fear they took his body to maim it further.”

 

Legolas stared at him in disbelief. “He tortured you. He tried to kill you, and nearly  _ succeeded _ ,” Legolas said.  “He tried to kill  _ me _ \-- and in his life, he did kill hundreds of others. Is it not just to let him rot in the grave he chose?”

 

“You do  _ not _ understand,” Thranduil snapped.  “Yes, Morfindien did terrible things. I do not deny his actions were abominable.  An evil creature such as he  _ deserved _ to pay for his crimes-- which he did pay for with his life. But the elf that was bound to that creature deserved better.”

 

Thranduil turned back towards the sea, scrutinizing the rocky shoreline for the deranged elf’s remains.

 

“You are right. I do not understand,” Legolas replied. “Compassion for him will not be wrested from me.”

 

Thranduil walked slowly down the beach with Legolas hovering at his elbow.  The prince wanted to grab him and haul him back into Katrien’s warm house, but instead he stood at his side, blocking the wind when he could. Though his body was still healing, Thranduil’s mind was sharp, and Legolas knew better than to treat him like an invalid when he was stubborn like this.

 

Stopping abruptly, Thranduil let loose a deep sigh and turned his gaze to the waves crashing along the beach.  Legolas said nothing, but risked a gentle touch on his arm. 

 

“Terrible things were done to him, Legolas,” Thranduil said softly.  “The great evil that skulks about these lands corrupted Morfindien, turned him into the evil thing you met.  There was a small window of opportunity where he may have returned to the light.  Where he should have found solace with his kin, he found revulsion and rejection instead. This does not excuse his actions. He chose the least difficult of the two paths before him, and gave in to the darkness, finding it easier to sink down than to climb up into the light.”

 

Legolas shook his head. “After what he did to you, I can summon no grace for him. He is condemned to the dark, watery grave he opined for you,” Legolas replied. “I am glad for it. It is a fitting end.”

 

Thranduil’s hand fit gently at his waist as he wound a comforting arm around him, drawing him nearer. Legolas realized he was tense again, his body held tight with anger at Morfindien.  His father’s gentleness soothed him, and he breathed a little easier.  

 

“What use is there to punish him further, for he is dead and cannot learn the lesson?” Thranduil asked.  “Morfindien was turned away from his kin in life, but he should not be turned away in death. Our people wronged him, and we must try to make amends. I had hoped to return his body to the forest.” 

 

“I see you will not be deterred,” Legolas said. “I will help you look, Adar.”

 

Thranduil and Legolas searched the wreckage for Morfindien’s body until the sun was firmly beneath the horizon, and it was too dark to see anything hidden amid the wreckage. It had been unlikely from the start that they would find him, but Thranduil could not leave his place without at least trying.

 

It seemed as if there was nothing left of Morfindien. The grim reality was that he had most likely been crushed to death by the obelisk when the keep collapsed, buried under ancient brick and sea water for all time. 

 

“Ada,” Legolas said suddenly. “It is not much, but I still have this.” From a pocket, Legolas pulled the iron key he’d fought Morfindien for. “I did not realize I still had it,” Legolas said. 

 

They key was still affixed to the chain that had hung around Morfindien’s neck. Dark strands of Morfindien’s hair were caught in the links of the necklace.  It was the only tangible thing left of the mad elf. 

  
  
  


*****

  
  


A vessel carrying Greenwood elves arrived in the port of Fishhead the following morning.  The riders Legolas had sent back to the stronghold had assembled a company of soldiers and two healers on a chartered boat.  They were relieved to find their king and fellow elves safe and sound after the violence that had been left behind in the Greenwood.

 

Thranduil quickly put his soldiers to work, providing the aid he had promised to Eskil and Katrien a week ago.  The king asked for volunteers to stay and help rebuild the withering sea town over the next six months, and was pleased when there was no shortage of offers. 

 

Torn between his sense of duty, and his desire to honor and care for his father, Legolas did not know what to choose.  He wanted to see that the terms the council had decided upon were brought through to completion himself.  But being separated from Thranduil for the next six months, Legolas could not bear. Recognizing now that his fortitude had been made brittle by this trauma, he too needed time to recover.  

 

Thranduil’s recuperation in the sea town was slow, and Legolas wanted him sent back to the Greenwood as soon as possible, where his chance for a full and swift recovery would be greatest, surrounded by his beloved forest and the adoration of his people.

 

Katrien watched the prince deliberate with himself for twenty minutes before she decided to dole out some unsolicited advice.

 

“Give Thranduil a little more time to recover while you get things started with the renovations,” Katrien suggested, “and you will be able to leave together before the week is out.” 

 

“What about--.” Legolas began. 

 

“You have helped us more than enough,” Katrien said. “You both thrive under the care of the other. I know you are fearful to leave each other,” she said, “and there is no need to test that fear just yet.”

 

Grateful for her words, Legolas nodded and said, “Thank you, Katrien.” 

 

In the end, Tauriel happily agreed to stay on in Fishhead to oversee the renovations while Legolas traveled back to the Greenwood with the king. His trust of her had always been great, but after this incident, it had increased tenfold. 

 

Within a two day’s time, their plan was set in motion, and now all that remained was for the king to be well enough to return to the Greenwood.  Legolas watched him carefully as the week passed, monitoring his progress with a keen gaze, and though Thranduil was eager to leave, he exercised that famous patience of his and made no mention of it. With Tauriel overseeing the renovations there was little for Legolas to do, and he found that he was getting restless.

 

It was then, that Thranduil approached him. 

 

“Relaxation does not suit you,” Thranduil said as he moved towards Legolas, who leaned against the front porch railing, watching the fishing town wake for the day.  “It never has. As soon as you could walk you decided constant motion was to be your natural state.”

 

Legolas smiled up at him and said, “Nevertheless, I am content to work on my patience.”

 

“You will not have to for very much longer. We will set out tomorrow,” Thranduil said.  “I am ready.” 

 

“Yes, my lord,” Legolas replied, and he smiled big as he recognized the spirit and vigor of elf he knew so well returning to Thranduil. 

 

It was a four day journey back to the Elvenking’s hall on horseback, three if they pushed themselves.  And though the journey was difficult on Thranduil, the nearer he drew to this forest the lighter his heart was and the swifter he seemed to regain his strength.  

 

Through the winter-sparse forest, Thranduil and Legolas rode side by side on the trail with an entourage of elven guards front and aft.  Though the circumstances that led them to here were not the best, they found that happiness and ease in each other's company had returned to them. 

  
FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everybody for hanging in there! I hope you guys liked this story with all its emotional twists and turns. Please let me know! Don’t be a stranger. 
> 
> Feel free to check out my [art blog](http://griseldajane.tumblr.com) for Thranduil and Legolas art, and my Thranduil and Legolas tumblr on my [Mirkwood Family blog](http://mirkwoodfamily.tumblr.com). I’ve been writing this story for a long time, so I might have trouble letting it go… art from the story may happen. 
> 
> This story was the result of a dream I had and half my efforts from NaNoWriMo 2014. Would you be interested in another Mirkwood Family story from me? The next Thranduil and Legolas story I have on the docket is the other story I wrote during that time. It’s pretty weird, but if you’re interested in learning more, please stop by my tumblr and tell me! 
> 
> Thanks again!


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